


Synthetic

by Doitsuki



Category: Humans (TV), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Future, Crossover, Domestic, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Psychological Horror, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Robots, Synths (Humans), feanor gets weird when high, what even is this, yeah that's a thing, yep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the premise of the show "Humans" apparently shown on channel 4 in the US. Follows the plot of the show, does not give much explanation for wat is going on and is basically HUMANS, BUT WITH ELVES. :D </p><p>~ The lives of all the folk in Arda are greatly enhanced by the existence of Synths, realistic-looking robots. Other countries also benefit from these tireless, expensive and miraculous creations. Unfortunately, with the rise of efficient, beautiful and seemingly compassionate machines, the world faces an economic crash as millions of jobs are taken. There is also... a slight problem, regarding just how intelligent these robots are. ~</p><p>Contains sweet Thranduil + Legolas family feels and some Feanorian shenanigans. Also the House of Elrond. Much Elrond/Lindir and Elrond/Glorfindel in later chapters<br/>If mech creeps you, this fic may be considered horror. Also there's robot sex lel pls be warned</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ada

**Author's Note:**

> -Writer's block prompts robot fic lel-
> 
> Elvish is used in this fic a lot, it's the second language of the Elven race in the country of Arda. Most of it may not be correct so uh pretend it's an evolution of Sindarin ok 
> 
> Ada/Adar: Dad/Father  
> Nana/Naneth: Mum/Mother  
> Hano/Gwador: Brother/Not-by-blood brother  
> Ai : generic exclamation, usually pain  
> Hannon le: Thank you  
> Meleth nin: My love
> 
> Quenya also exists but it's a specific dialect that traditionalist Noldor use at home. Usually families who give a shit about their ancestry go into that stuff.

The city of Rhovanion remained quiet as usual without all the hustle and bustle of heavy traffic. It was the main reason why Thranduil decided to live here instead of in Gondor with his former colleagues. Too much noise bothered his sensitive ears, and large concentrations of people weren’t that fun for someone of his age. He’d lived all forty-eight years of his life surrounded by robots, having found them easier to handle. Of course he did. He knew what went on inside their heads.

“Legolas, come here a moment.” While seated upon the plush red velvet couch in his cozy living room, Thranduil beckoned to his son. Even footsteps came from the right, and Thranduil heard the sound of liquid in a closed container. Ah, Legolas had brought him wine.

“Yes, Ada?” Legolas stood a meter from Thranduil, just by the edge of the table.

“Sit.” The motion of Thranduil’s thin hand was like a feather wafting on a gentle breeze. In his eyes there was the kindness of a father and labourer combined. Legolas was his own, precious little boy. Synthetic, but so incredibly _real._

Obedient as ever, Legolas sat. He touched Thranduil’s hand with his warm, soft fingers and felt a slightly elevated pulse.

“Would you like some wine?” Legolas’s youthful yet neutral voice spoke at just the right volume, calming Thranduil with its easy tones.

“Yes, thank you.” Thranduil glanced down and saw the reflection of light from the single glass Legolas held. Moments later, he tasted sweet wine and sighed. “Mm, what would I do without you?” With great fondness he nuzzled Legolas’s cheek, used to the lack of physical reply. Legolas did not breathe any faster or make any unexpected sounds. He wasn’t made for pleasure, after all.

“You would be very lonely. But don’t worry. I will not leave you.”

Thranduil smiled, and Legolas (who watched his father’s facial expressions) did too. The transition from neutrality to contentment was a little stilted, but Thranduil hardly noticed. All that mattered was Legolas beside him.

 

~

 

Forty minutes away in the business district of Eregion, a family lived amongst the richest elves and dwarves in all of Arda. The House of Elrond was less a house and more a mansion, with its grand pillars holding arches adorned with flowers, both real and carved. Many swirling designs swept across the architectural marvel that was Elrond’s home, and he admired the ceiling of his study today while thinking how great it was to be financially stable. He remembered his days in college being young and afraid, without a mother or father to bring him through the confusion of life. But he’d made it. All by himself.

He looked away from the ceiling. There’d been a sound just a moment ago, yet he could see nothing disturbed in the room.

“Ahem.”

Elrond nearly jumped out of his skin as someone coughed right beside him. Standing perfectly still was his wife Celebrían, having snuck into the study to escape from their children.

“Why are you stuck in here? You’re _retired_ , and have four children.” Celebrían leaned over and grabbed her husband’s jaw, all her curly silver hair spilling onto the desk. “Look at me. You should be out there attending to them, Elrond.”

Elrond rolled his cool grey eyes and grunted something incoherent in reply. A sharp ‘ _WHAT?_ ’ prompted him to speak clearer.

“They’re fine, love… Honestly. Estel is just fine with Arwen and the twins won’t get up to much trouble with Erestor watching them.” He waved a hand dismissively in an attempt to get Celebrían to release him. She could be molten lava burning his nerves away when she wanted something, and his stubborn nature rarely let him acquiesce to her wishes. _‘Let me guess. She wants to rant about Erestor again?’_

Celebrían straightened up and put her hands on her hips. Before she took a deep breath to say what she wished, Elrond gestured with two fingers.

“Lindir. Papers.”

At once, there was movement from the left corner of the room and from his blending position amongst the bookshelves, a Synth appeared. Dressed in a smart brown suit with his long chocolate-brown hair tied back in a ponytail, Lindir went around the desk and began arranging Elrond’s documents.  
“Wha- Can’t you do that yourself?” Celebrían smacked Lindir’s hand away, not giving a damn for the doe-eyed look of confusion he gave her. Elrond sighed.

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I’m not ignoring you to fix my papers which have been disturbed by _your_ presence. Now say what you will.”

“Ugh! Elrond, you _know_ how I feel about having all these bloody Synths in the house.”

“They are my creations, my life’s work. When I look at them I remember my old colleagues and the best years of my youth.” Elrond resisted the urge to pet Lindir’s head, as it was bowed down in apology. “Look. You’ve upset him.”

“Oh don’t give me that. You know better than anyone else that these things don’t _feel.”_ As if to demonstrate, Celebrían smacked Lindir in the head, which he quickly dodged in a swift jerk back. Celebrían caught the air and snarled into Lindir’s emotionless face.

Elrond rose to his feet, angered. “That’s _enough_. Get your little tirade over and done with, but **_do not hit my servant._** ”

“A stupid _servant_. That’s all you are.” said Celebrían to Lindir, who blinked at her and thought it wise to remain still until she’d calmed down. Turning to Elrond, Celebrían continued. “I don’t think a machine should be looking after our children. It is the job of a mother to raise them, clean them, feed them and love them! Our children are not _living_ , Elrond. They are merely surviving, and learning to be _lazy_. They eat, they sleep, they play video games. All facilitated by Erestor’s faulty programming.”

“F-Faulty programming?!” Elrond slammed his hand flat on the desk, scattering his papers. Lindir caught them all within seconds. “He’s programmed to keep them happy and prevent those godawful _tantrums_ you so hate! They eat well, and sleep at reasonable times. As for video games? They promote intelligence and reaction times-”

“What about instinct? What about exercise? What about being _human_?”

“Oh, we are not having this conversation again.” Rubbing his temples, Elrond turned away from his wife. He had no excuse to make her leave him alone as there was really no work he _had_ to do.

“Why not? You _know_ you can’t win so you’re just going to tell me to leave _aren’t you_?”

“When did this become about winning?!”

Celebrían’s shrill tone had begun to grate on Elrond’s nerves and he truly hated to yell at his wife. It wasn’t in his nature to be so aggressive. She just… happened to disagree with almost every single belief he maintained. And she was quite vocal about it too, a bit frequently for Elrond’s liking.

“When those boys grow up, you’ll see. Then you’ll be sorry.” An unmistakable hiss edged Celebrían’s voice and she stormed out of the room, shoving Lindir as she went past. He regained his balance with ease.

“Milord, shall I attend to your papers now?”

“Yes, yes.” Elrond pinched his brow in frustration, listening to Lindir’s efficient sorting of the documents. They were reports on unusual Synth behaviours, along with some code dumps from various brains. Elrond could think of nothing more fascinating than his beloved study of robotics. Thus, every day he would read and read whatever new and interesting material came by. Various scientific journals wrote about the creations that revolutionized the way people lived their lives. Others discussed the threat Synths posed to the economy. There weren’t many jobs these days that a machine couldn’t do for a fraction of the cost and risk of human labour. Fifty five thousand dollars a year for an accountant could just as well be twenty thousand for a Synth who could calculate so fast they finished a day’s work in minutes. Elrond always thought that mathematically focussed jobs that required monotonous, mind-numbing tasks were better suited for robots than people. People needed to socialise, be creative, and most of all enjoy themselves. Being stuck in an office was counterproductive to that. So Elrond thought, and thus he created. Along with four others, he wished only to make the world a better place. Nowadays he tried not to go out too much. Too many people knew his face. He was the one who had taken their jobs. They wanted his blood. Or money. Preferably both.

“Everything is in order.” Lindir announced softly as he stood straight, hands folded behind his back. Elrond knew his servant required no praise or even a rest from his duties, but offered him a thin smile nonetheless. It vanished a moment later, twisting into a grimace.

“Give me a massage.”

_‘Celebrían always makes me so tense.’_

Lindir nodded, gesturing for Elrond to move to the couch. “Shall I undress you, milord?”

Elrond grunted in reply, nodding so Lindir understood. Before he sat on the couch he stood before the Synth and allowed Lindir to come close. Gentle, warm silicone fingers neared the collar of Elrond’s crisp white shirt and undid the buttons with mechanical precision. There was a calm, pleased look on Lindir’s face as if he secretly derived pleasure from being near Elrond. That was his neutral face for whenever he and Elrond were alone. It made Elrond feel appreciated, _loved_ even. As the primary coder for all the Synths, he knew Lindir did not love him. That had been Gil-Galad’s dream. Sometimes however, it was still nice to have the illusion. Elrond did not think too deeply about how he interacted with Synths. He already knew all there was to know.

There was no prolonged gazing or contact once Elrond’s shirt was gone, Lindir knowing not to go below the belt. It didn’t seem like Elrond was in the mood for _that_ this evening. Elrond lay upon his beige couch that backed the right wall of his study, having his desk behind him to the left and the coffee table nearby. Lindir positioned himself behind Elrond and ensured he was comfortable, before starting work on his creator’s strained muscles. Elrond’s long dark hair hung over the armrest of the couch and he sighed as Lindir’s hands began to vibrate. Uploading the knowledge of a massage therapist to an ordinary Synth was nothing tough, and Elrond was glad he’d done it. His back ached terribly these days – without Lindir, he feared he’d hardly be able to walk. Erestor would probably have to carry him around the house. It was worth a try just to see the look on Celebrían’s face, he thought. Then again, the amount of shrieking she would do…

“Am I hurting you?” asked Lindir, simulated concern in his voice.

“No, no. Just be careful around the ah… you know. The muscle that goes from the… deltoid to the… nn…”

Lindir immediately changed his pressure to suit Elrond’s sensitivity and all was well from then on.

Elrond eventually fell asleep and was taken to bed by Lindir, who could carry much more weight than the slender elf in his arms. Once fully nude and among the blankets, Elrond settled in without a frown to be seen. A shadow was cast across his face. Lindir’s hand hovered over him for a second, then came down to stroke his hair. In silence, he watched. In silence, he smiled.

 


	2. A Mother for my Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the lives of great inventors change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fëanor uses British slang and comes off as a real creep when wasted, so I’ll put an incest warning for that shit. There’s no noncon tho]

While the city folk settled down to watch the late news, one elf and a Synth in the likeness of his estranged wife attempted to prepare dinner.

“CELEGORM! GET OVER HERE, NOW!” Fëanor screeched at the top of his lungs to get his third eldest son away from the living room, knowing there was probably something disastrous going on in there.

“God, Adar! The fuck you want?” With his luscious blonde curls bouncing about, Celegorm strutted into the room.

“I _knew_ you were screwing around! What the hell are you wearing? You look like a-“

“A _what_ , hm? Tell me.” Celegorm leaned in close to his father, daring him to criticize the fashion of the most vain elf in the house.

“Like a _whore_. I can see your ass out the back of your jeans. You planning on going out, making a little extra cash on the side?” Fëanor shamelessly licked his lips as he eyed his son up and down. “ _God,_ you’re fit.”

Celegorm smirked, looking over his own shoulder at the fine ass in question. His toned, pale flesh had a rather obvious curve to it as he kept da booty soft while the rest of his body remained somewhat muscular.

“You want some, do you?”

Nerdanel glanced at Fëanor for a moment, wondering if she should remind him of what he’d told her all those years ago. _‘Remind me to keep my shit together if I try anything funny on my sons. They’re all as handsome as me. Sometimes I can’t help myself.’_

“Nah. We’re eating potatoes tonight, not your ass. Have dinner first, then go out selling your body. Don’t let anyone hurt you, alright?” Fëanor barely finished speaking before Celegorm turned around with an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, yeah! I get it. You’ll get your drug money soon.”

Fëanor closed his eyes and let Nerdanel do the rest of the cooking. Every single time Celegorm gave him money, he always had something to say. Some derogatory comment or just an angsty look. Fëanor didn’t know whether to feel hurt or pissed off. Now he was too upset to even cook.

“Serve it when they’re all at the table. I’m going to.. yeah.” He turned away, walking off down the hall of the apartment to his own room. Nerdanel confirmed Fëanor’s command without him being there and silently went back to boiling potatoes. It was all they could afford these days. Had she any emotions, she would have felt grateful for the presence of electricity in the house. Without it, she’d be nothing but a pretty, expensive brick.

Fëanor opened the door to see his three youngest sons lying together, all in a heap atop the covers.

“Hey… boys, it’s time for dinner. Wake up.”

Curufin’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, reaching for Fëanor with a sleepy yawn. At once he was taken up into Fëanor’s arms and received a kiss on the forehead.

“Ada… why are you sad?” came the voices of Amrod and Amras, their wide grey eyes peeping at Fëanor. Curufin pulled at his father’s cheeks, trying to force him to smile. Fëanor attempted to keep his face from drooping but couldn’t do much.

_‘Stupid Celegorm. Now I look depressed.’_

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just tired, for your brothers have been very loud and annoying. Come on. Food will be ready soon.”

Amras crawled out of bed, tugging his brother along as everyone left the bedroom. Five minutes later, the whole family minus Nerdanel sat at the table. On each side of the long table was room enough for three people, while Fëanor sat at the head with Maedhros on the other end. One chair remained empty, as Curufin decided to sit in his father’s lap instead of beside his brothers.

Caranthir watched him with nothing but hatred in his poisonous green eyes. He remembered how gentle Fëanor’s shaky hands could be when stroking his hair, how soft his usually abrasive voice sounded when speaking in absolute calm. Caranthir had been the youngest for seven blissful years. And then Curufin came along. Now he sat in Fëanor’s lap being fed like a baby, even though he was five years old and could eat by himself. Fëanor gave Curufin most of what was on his own plate, only eating a little now and then. He didn’t seem to be entirely aware of his immediate surroundings.

“Is he…?” Maglor nudged Celegorm, who shook his head.

“Nah. Not yet, anyway.” Vaguely referring to Fëanor’s habits was the only way anyone could talk about it without pissing him off. As a few of his sons looked to him, he continued to pet Curufin while tuned out of the conversation. Curufin was sticking his fingers into the mashed potatoes and eating with his hands, somehow keeping himself clean at the same time. Fëanor held the empty fork in his still hand which rested on the table.

“Pff, it looks like he’s fallen asleep.” Maglor smirked for a moment then winced as Maedhros flicked him.

“Don’t mock him. He’s tired.”

“Hey Adar, what the hell have you been doing to be so worn out?” Celegorm attempted to engage Fëanor, but got no response. Curufin looked up, and noticed that Fëanor’s eyes were closed. There was no movement in his face at all.

“Adar?”

“Is he dead?” Amrod and Amras peered at Fëanor, only to be glared at by Curufin. Caranthir meanwhile tried to act as if he didn’t care. Maedhros was the first to stand and go to shake his father’s shoulders, then panic at the lack of response.

Nerdanel could only watch from her distant position at the kitchen sink as the boys crowded around Fëanor, chaotic and confused. She could not call for help. Her modifications prevented her from doing so. Fëanor would not have a Synth rat him out to the police for his drug use and abusive behaviour – but at the same time, prevented any possible emergency assistance.

Celegorm did not go to work that night.

 

~

 

In the morning, Thranduil awoke to the sound of gentle rain on the tin roof of his house. Wrapped up in blankets with Legolas beside him, he yawned.

“What shall we do today, hm?”

“My battery is at a hundred percent. We can do anything.”

“That’s the spirit.” Thranduil rolled over and kissed Legolas on the cheek, smiling with early optimism. “Let’s go and have breakfast.”

“Yes, Ada.” Legolas returned his father’s smile and scooped him up in both arms. The blankets slipped away as they exited the room, but Thranduil could not feel cold with his son’s warmth so close. He could hear the gentle whirring of Legolas’s central processors, but only if he pressed his ear to the right spot. Synths were made to be quiet when not speaking, so they could be as unobtrusive as possible. They were a mere complement to people’s lives, after all. Being annoying and obviously mechanical was a thing the visionary Gil-Galad had made sure his creations never suffered from. The more natural Synths looked, the easier they could be integrated into society. All that he wished to do before he died was to make them capable of intelligent thought…

Thranduil remembered the days of his work at Persona Synthetics fondly. He’d been in charge of making sure the Synths could be related to, and set the parameters for how they responded to emotional displays. He formed speech patterns, tweaked nuances that only a real voice could portray and turned them into data a robotic mind could process. He was the one who made Synths able to truly communicate. Elrond had done all the programming, and others worked on engineering, tinkering, fine details and cosmetic appearance. In the years Thranduil last had proper eyesight, he’d overseen the design of his own Synth Legolas. So refined had the process been that he truly considered Legolas his son. The boy had his own eyebrows, after all. Nobody could hold such magnificent monuments upon their face and _not_ be related to Thranduil.

Legolas put Thranduil down on the couch so smoothly that the sensation felt like melting into a world of cushions.

“I will prepare breakfast now, Ada. What would you like?”

“Some crepes with chocolate and strawberries, please. Coffee, too.” Thranduil reached out to touch Legolas’s hand and held it for a few moments.

“Okay.” Legolas waited a second after Thranduil released him, then made his way into the kitchen. The remote control for the TV remained between the couch cushions as usual, and Thranduil picked it up to get the morning news. He couldn’t really see shapes clearly on the old flatscreen, but it was good enough for him.

 _‘-and here we have the latest invention from the miraculous folks at Persona Synthetics… Programmer Bifur of Erebor University explains.’_ On the TV, a dwarf appeared standing beside the news reporter. Thranduil recognized black and white striped patterns in his extravagant hairstyle. “ _Yeah, I think it’s really important for the kids these days to have someone who will really_ listen _to them. That’s why I’ve developed the Ultimate Teacher personality; someone who can access every single digital piece of information related to the subject they’re teaching in three microseconds. Nobody uses textbooks anymore, and the online versions of such material are easier to interact with when links and videos are available. Now, this Synth personality can be added to any of our dollies and BAM! Instant teacher. They interact wirelessly with the laptops each student has for their classes, and can respond to text queries on an individual basis. Imagine being able to talk to thirty people at once, all personal and stuff! It’s great. An Ultimate Teacher Synth doesn’t get tired, stressed, or angry. They are there to usher in the future of intelligent children.”_ Videos flashed across the screen while Bifur spoke, visions of classrooms headed by a calm, attractive Synth. The news segment appeared to be a partial interview as the reporter asked a question.

_“What about all the jobs going to these Synths? What will the educators of the world do now?”_

_“Ehh… I’m unable to speak on behalf of the company.”_

_“But you are the creator of all this code! I want your opinion on this.”_

_“The educators of the world can do whatever they like – pursue their own passions, not have to worry about their nerves being tested by disobedient kids. Dude, have you **seen**_ _the attitudes of children these days? Ask any sociologist or just get married and you’ll see what happens when they reach school age. Ultimate Teacher Synths are the way to go. Thank you!”_ Bifur gave a cheeky salute to the camera, then walked offscreen. The reporter held his microphone close to his chest, then sighed.

“ _Wise words from a clever dwarf. Bifur of Erebor University, everyone. Now, the latest in foreign technology.”_

“Ada.” Legolas came out of the kitchen just as Thranduil caught the scent of buttery sweetness, espresso and rich chocolate in the air. “Your crepes, and coffee.” A golden-edged porcelain plate was set on the low table with three crepes atop it, chocolate sauce drizzled over each in generous amounts. Sliced strawberries were lined up beside the crepes with little swirls of chocolate on them. Thranduil was handed a fork, and his miniature espresso cup clinked beside the plate so he knew where it was. Legolas always went above and beyond to ensure Thranduil’s environmental ease.

“Thank you.” Thranduil leaned forwards, gesturing for Legolas to sit beside him. The crepes were already cut up and he enjoyed the perfectly crafted dish while listening to the news. Realistic robot cats from Japan… Five-star chef Synths from America. Yet nothing could compare to the original creations of Arda’s very own Persona Synthetics – and for that, Thranduil was proud. A little elitist, perhaps.

When the commercials came on, Legolas spoke. “There are newer models of Synths, Ada. What do you think?” It was only a bit of harmless conversation-provoking code, but Thranduil took a deeper meaning from his son’s words. Sipping on his coffee, he turned to look at Legolas.

“I will not buy any, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Legolas smiled faintly. “I am incapable of worry. You have sufficient funds to purchase one, should you wish for an upgrade.”

“No.” Thranduil shook his head and pressed a hand to Legolas’s back. “You are my precious, perfect little boy. I won’t give you up for all the Synths in the world.”

“Okay.” said Legolas, his expression resetting to a neutral state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew Thranduil and Legolas for you readers :)


	3. Servants and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more problems in the House of Elrond :(

Elrond hated to admit it, but he was a Headcracker. Not just _a_ Headcracker, but The _Best._ Everyone on the Synth hacking forum looked up to _Ha1fm@n_N01d0_ for the ultimate tips in keeping any breaches in their Synth’s minds away from prying eyes and fierce detection systems. Codes to ensure no data was corrupted and crucial files remained safe, even backed up but unable to be reverse-engineered… all that was Elrond’s contribution to the world’s largest hacking community. The Spy of Persona Synthetics and Whistleblower of Headcracker.com – nobody knew his position nor the identity of the anonymous tipster who suggested what should be included in the next Synth security update. Elrond worked to protect the creations of his team and the safety of the world. There was only so far trust could go when Synthetics could be modded to feel pain and rape people. Elrond did his very best to offer morality to the more malicious Headcrackers and was seldom turned away – but he was a programmer, not a God of Justice. He couldn’t stop modders from altering their Synths… but he could make sure they never saw the light of day again.

It had only been six hours since the Ultimate Teacher Synth Personality had been made available for purchase, and already someone had dumped the code on a pinned Headcracker post. Elrond browsed through while lying in bed, looking at the projected screen of his laptop on the ceiling. In his right hand he held a mouse to scroll with. His face was illuminated by the white text streaming past in the otherwise dark room and the pure silence was perfect for concentration. In his mind he played out the actions of a Synth who had the Ultimate Teacher Personality, going through the variables and hearing the methods of discourse. Some snippets of code interested him enough to be dictated to Lindir, who was also watching.

“Line 2471 to 3609, keep that and annotate it with potential ignorance.” On a hidden tab away from the fullscreened Headcracker post, Lindir sent the copied text to an open document. Elrond continued to read.

“Mm, no… this is a loophole. While multiple complex queries at once can be handled, the call function skips over the RAM pull. Takes up too much processing power, looking for a new definition to something that should be in recent memory. Add that to the reply doc.”

Lindir did so immediately then glanced to the door. “Milord. Disturbance.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Elrond grumbled under his breath, breaking his concentration as the lights suddenly flicked on. Celebrían sauntered in, her shirt already half unbuttoned. She paused at the sight of Lindir beside her husband.

“Damn it, what do you want?” Wincing, Elrond snapped at his wife while rubbing his sensitive eyes. “Nearly blinded me, almost gave me a stroke.”

“Just shut up, I’m only here to get dressed. Do your nerdy crap somewhere else if you don’t want me around.” Celebrían held an arm over her chest, guarding her breasts from Lindir’s impassive view. “Stop staring, you pervert.”

“It’s not like he has anything to stare at…” Elrond’s irritation moved him to slip his tongue in slight insult and Celebrían threw a shoe at him. Lindir caught it and moved to protect Elrond with his body. He continued to watch Celebrían for any further signs of an attack.

Elrond did not tell Lindir to disengage. He watched Celebrían, clearly annoyed. She ordered Lindir once more to look away.

“I may only do so at the request of my Primary User.” said Lindir, his voice calm as ever.

“Damn you!” Celebrían huffed all the way to the walk-in wardrobe and locked herself there, rummaging around for a dress to wear. Her social events these days were the only escape she really had, being without a job yet owning all the status of her husband’s success. Her friends loved her for money. Her children didn’t even try. Elrond was another story entirely.

She picked out something long and lilac, silver jewelry to match her hair and black shoes to compliment her dark eyelashes. She would go for the look of smoky seduction tonight, mysterious and brilliant all at once. Perhaps someone would compliment her. Someone with a beating heart and organic brain.

Elrond rolled onto his side and pressed his face into Lindir’s chest. “Urghhh…” He felt his servant initiate a soothing motion of hair-stroking, a particular thing he was very fond of. “Lindir…”

“Yes, milord?” Since Celebrían was in the other room, Lindir spoke to Elrond with his usual exalted respect and cuddled him close.

“When you hear the wardrobe door click, release me.”

_‘She mustn’t know.’_

 

~

 

When Celebrían came home at two in the morning with wine in her blood and lipstick on her cheek, she did not expect her children to be awake. Erestor lay on his face in the living room, having entered energy-saving mode after being denied access to his charger for too long. On his back sat Elladan and Elrohir, trying to pull out his hair.

“What are you two _doing?!”_ cried Celebrían, walking as fast as her high heels would allow. “You know what your Ada will do if he finds out you broke his dolly…”

“Na! It was Arwen!” Elladan smacked Erestor on the head with all the strength in his weary little hands, suddenly waking him.

“Battery has reached critical levels. Please connect to charger.” Erestor’s voice sounded more robotic than anything, his speech stilted and jarring.

“Do it yourself.” Celebrían turned up her nose at the Synth, finding her children more of an immediate concern. She tugged both Elladan and Elrohir away until they whined at her to pick them up. “No, darlings. Nana is very tired and you will have to walk…”

“Ups!” The twins cried at once with raised hands tugging at Celebrían’s dress. They were five years old and too heavy for Celebrían’s slender arms to carry. She didn’t exactly hit the gym on a regular basis, nor did her children ask to be picked up often. Usually, Erestor carried them. It always frightened her whenever she saw that.

**“Stop it.”** A little firmer, Celebrían shook her head. “Go to bed, both of you. You shouldn’t be awake at this time…”

She didn’t know that her sons had slept during the day and were high on stolen sugar cookies, having gone absolutely mental without Erestor’s guidance. Arwen had chosen today of all days to try hacking into Erestor’s mind, and succeeded in overclocking him to the point of a complete battery drain. He was lucky to still have his brain alive. Without power, the conductive fluid in his head would be like melted butter to the synthetic organ. Useless and unable to keep much of a current.

It was a grueling half-hour until Celebrían could flop into bed, or at least enter her bedroom and notice her husband laying with another man. Elrond remained in Lindir’s embrace, having fallen asleep after long discussions about Headcracking the new Teacher Synth and being coerced into donating for the original poster’s upgrade purchase. Everyone was begging for money online these days. Elrond didn’t have the heart to ignore someone who’d done something good for the community he partook in.

Seething, Celebrían kicked off her heels and ripped her dress away. Clad in only a supportive white bra and lacy underwear, she stormed over to shove Lindir out of the bed. Fingers like iron clamped around her wrist.

“No.” whispered the Synth’s dark voice. Celebrían screamed.

 

~

 

The morning brought one very upset Elrond to run a full diagnostics checkup on Erestor, who sat with a charger up his ass and a blank look on his face. Lindir served breakfast in silence while Elrond typed away on his laptop, the twins played with their food and Estel fidgeted in Celebrían’s arms. Arwen had already been lectured and sulked with her messy hair sliding into her coffee. Halfway through high school and already she cared more about illegally modifying her father’s work more than her studies. Elrond didn’t know whether to be proud, harsh or concerned. A mixture often came about in times like these. But for now, Elrond focussed on attending to Erestor. Celebrían waited to ask about last night.

The dark circles beneath Elrond’s eyes threatened to become rather obvious age-wrinkles along with the lines on his forehead. He was barely past forty and already looked old enough to be someone’s grandfather. The stress of many sleepless nights along with too much staring and frowning at lines of code had that effect on him. Now, the furrow between his sharp, angular brows had deepened enough to mimic the crevice of a valley amongst weathered rocks. He didn’t even know he was squinting at his screen until Lindir handed him his glasses. Celebrían saw her chance.

“What were you two doing last night?” Suspicion edged her high, clipped words and Elrond groaned.

“Charging our batteries. Up until you screeched me awake, that is. Why do you have to be so highly strung?”

“Me? _You_ ’re the one spending all your time with that dolly of yours, probably doing indecent things with him when I’m not around!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, Elrond growled under his breath. “This is hardly the time or place to discuss such matters. Hold your baseless accusations for another day.”

“Hmph. I’ll be dead before I get a reply from you. You probably wouldn’t even notice.”

“Dead?” Elladan and Elrohir turned at once to gawk at their mother with wide eyes. Arwen shushed them in frustration, glaring at Celebrían. “You really need to chill…”

“We’re only in this situation because of _you_. Hacking Erestor to the point where he couldn’t function! What were you _thinking?”_

Elrond took a fierce bite from his cold toast. “Don’t even think of pretending to care about him. You’re always complaining about how Erestor takes away your parenting duties and now can barely manage the twins without him.”

“What about _you_?! Are you not their father, who just happens to stare at lines of numbers all day instead of looking after your own children?”

“I made Erestor. I trust him.”

“Well I _don’t._ ”

While Celebrían and Elrond bickered, Estel squirmed to be free from his mother’s grip. He couldn’t say much yet and ended up wailing random gibberish, causing cringes all round. Elrond stood up and took him from Celebrían, sitting back down while looking regretfully at his screen.

‘ _Pathetic.’_ Celebrían thought to herself. ‘ _He’d rather be typing than comforting his own son.’_ She did not see nor hear Elrond’s soothing to Estel, neither did she take notice of Lindir’s intense observation of what was going on. All that went through her mind was hatred for her husband and annoyance at her son’s cries. Eventually, Estel calmed down. Celebrían was still ready to bite Elrond’s head off when she felt a tug at her sleeve. Elladan wanted her attention after seeing Elrond with Estel. Just a hug. Celebrían snapped at him.

“What?”

He shied away, clearly frightened. “You’re scary…” he mumbled, falling into Elrohir who grabbed onto him with messy hands. Celebrían could only facepalm and wonder where she went wrong.

_‘It’s the Synths. They’re destroying my family.’_


	4. Quality of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory plot.

Thranduil decided to accompany Legolas on Sunday morning for a shopping trip. The fresh air would do him no harm, and the closest supermarket was just on the outskirts of Rhovanion. He could handle the distant traffic from the city and sparse crowds on the footpaths.

“There are sixteen items you should purchase to maintain consumable inventory, Ada.” Legolas didn’t need shopping lists or a wallet, for he had Thranduil’s bank account linked to his wireless transfer capabilities and a file that spoke of what was needed.

“Alright. I shall come along today, so just wait a little.” Thranduil went up the stairs and trailed his hand along the wall until he came to his own room. While dependent on his Synth, he still knew his own house well enough to wander around safely. In ten minutes he reached the bottom of the stairs dressed in an elegant black suit, the sort businessmen would wear to their daily office jobs. He waited for Legolas to perfect his appearance, and felt careful fingers adjust the angle of his collar in relation to the lapels of his jacket.

“Let’s go.”

Legolas laced his fingers with Thranduil’s and tugged a little on his hand. They left the house together, looking more like lovers than an elf and his son. Nobody could mistake Legolas for a living creature, however. His stiff manner of walking and lack of vocal emotion gave away his synthetic nature before his staring blue eyes could be noticed. It was a little after eleven when everyone was already at work and nobody went rushing for lunch, so the streets were rather quiet. Thranduil listened to the wind blowing his hair about and birds chirping in trees. This was the sort of peace he loved, the medium between complete isolation and a routine to get him out of the house. Going out once a month was good enough for him.

Upon reaching the supermarket, he was greeted by a tall man who appeared to know him.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while, sir! Everything alright?”

“Yes, yes. You’re probably used to Synths coming to shop here only, I assume?” Thranduil spoke gently to the man before him while keeping a bit of distance.

“Yep! What a gorgeous model you have! Oh, but I shouldn’t take up too much of your time. Come in!”

Thranduil smiled faintly and Legolas just stared at the man, his face passive. They walked in to a relatively calm atmosphere as there weren’t too many people shopping around. Legolas chose the most efficient route to travel around the aisles and pick up what was needed, keeping a loose hold on Thranduil’s hand.

“I’m going to go check out the frozen foods for a moment, son. I’ll be back in a bit.” Thranduil slipped away from Legolas and made his way to the freezers. He did have quite a love for ice-cream and there were always new flavours coming out every month. He leaned forwards to peer through the glass, looking at the pictures on the boxes. Chocolate and coffee Vienna ripple… Peanut Butter slice… Strawberries and Cream bliss… the writing was big enough for him to see. Thranduil would never admit that it empowered him, to be able to do something he normally could not. Without the help of Legolas, too!

 _‘That one looks good. It would go nice with some chocolate pancakes…’_ He took a tub of ice-cream from the freezer, one with folds of rich chocolate dotted with cream and drizzled with coffee-flavoured sauce on it. Just as a vague thought about his health zipped past, he heard a crash.

Caffeine-powered reflexes whipped him straight around to scan the supermarket, concerned. Then he realized there were only blurry people and multicoloured shelves blending together. And Legolas’s… voice.

“Organic butter. Unsalted. T-ted. T-t-t-dddd….” Legolas’s entire arm jerked and the various sauces nearby flew off the shelf. Thranduil raised an eyebrow, making his way over to see what was wrong. Suddenly he was facing another direction and had a dull pain in his side. Someone had pushed past him fast enough to disorient even the most clear-minded of people.

‘ _Well, shit.’_ Every passing second heightened the tension in his whole body. The overwhelming feeling that something was _wrong_ consumed his thoughts and he put the ice-cream on a shelf as he walked back to his son.

Legolas continued to inspect item after item, having dropped the butter and splattered it on the floor. A very faint beeping could be heard the closer Thranduil got. Then, a woman’s voice. Raised, angered, _threatening._

“You stupid thing! What are you doing, ahh this is the most expensive section you-” She got a brand new stick of butter right in the face, and Legolas stuttered at her “B-Butter, is not… sweet. Ada likes sweets.ssss…s…”

The woman made the most ghastly face, shrieking for security to come and do something. Thranduil put his hands out to grab Legolas but before he could restrain the Synth there was a loud clatter and one burly security guard vaulted over the nearest aisle with a mop. Wielding it like a weapon, he swung at Legolas to knock him to the ground. Legolas crashed into the mess of imported sauces worth more than the salary of everyone in the store, convulsing like a human child having a seizure.

“No!” Thranduil gasped, nearly slipping on the floor in his rush to get to his son. The security guard dove straight down and jabbed Legolas beneath the chin, turning him off. Legolas was still as he powered down in peace.

“This one yours?” growled the guard while glaring at very distraught Thranduil.

Thranduil’s eyebrows descended and the glare he shot back at the guard pierced with cold terror into the man’s heart. “Why did you have to shut him down?!”

“He buttered my face!” In protest, the woman who happened to be an innocent employee clutched at her cheeks, covered in a blend of makeup and butter. “That’s violence. Your Synth’s gone mad!”

Despite his fear, the security guard grabbed Thranduil and held him in a chokehold. “You’re staying here until the cops come. Something’s not quite right with you.”

Thranduil regretted having left the house.

 

~

 

Thirty minutes later, among all the stress and sorrow, fear hung in the air like a tangible black cloud. Synths did not hurt humans. Or elves, or dwarves for that matter. Not even animals, unless they threatened the life of the Synth’s Primary User. Thranduil sat in a chair beside his unmoving son, watched by the security guard like helpless prey. He wrung his hands, turning them over and over while listening to the melodic clink of his wristwatch. The metal segments moving together reminded Thranduil of the ambience when he’d been surrounded by more Synths than actual people, and brought him a deep sense of inner peace. That was shattered the moment Celeborn walked in.

“Chief detective for Synth-related incidents Celeborn here. Is it true, what the caller said? This Synth here hurt someone?” He looked around at the scene, a little disgusted by the mess on the floor. Nobody had cleaned it up so as to preserve the ‘scene of the crime’.

“Oh, sir! Yes, this malfunctioning appliance smacked me right in the face with a stick of butter! There’s also several hundred dollars’ worth of damage done to our stock…” Scratching at her face, the woman who’d tried to interfere with Legolas pointed an accusing finger at the Synth. Thranduil narrowed his eyes with hatred for how she spoke about his son. The security guard suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Belongs to this guy here, you might want to check him for any-” Celeborn waved his hand to shut the man up. Already he had a scanner in his hand, and held it close to Legolas’s head.

“Mr Thranduil Grünwald, I’d like to ask you a few questions… You’ve got this Synth registered as a Carer model, yet appear to have no conditions listed?” After straightening himself to stand at full height before Thranduil, Celeborn folded his arms. “You alright? I’ll ask you to look up, first of all.”

From the mess of long blonde hair and disheveled brows, up came Thranduil’s face. Woe had sunk into his face over the past thirty minutes and he was sure Legolas would be taken away. He looked as best he could into Celeborn’s eyes with his own milky grey-white orbs. “It was an accident.”

A flicker of compassion could be seen crossing Celeborn’s serious face. “You’ve had this Synth looking after you for the past six years? Why haven’t you gotten an upgrade?”

“I’m happy with him just the way he is. I do not need an upgrade. May I leave now?” He tried to get up, but was pushed back down into the chair by the guard behind him. Looking back, he hissed something incoherently and it was made clear that he wished to be left alone. At Celeborn’s request, the guard backed away. Thranduil then sighed, before kneeling to touch beneath Legolas’s chin. Nothing happened. He felt his breath die in his throat.

“Y-You _broke_ him!” he cried, clenching his hands into fists with murder in his snarling face. The guard instantly went for the taser at his hip, wary of an impending turn of events. Celeborn tried to placate the elf with his professional voice.

“Now, just calm down. It’s about time you got this model replaced anyway. The government will provide one, free of charge.”

“I do not WANT a new one! He is a priceless, custom model.” Surely it would sound crazy if he proclaimed the Synth to be his _son_. “You are causing me a great inconvenience. I have no need for a new Synth – I can fix Legolas well enough.” Perhaps he lied. His face did not betray this. “Drive me home. That’s all I ask.”

Celeborn could not see any true ill intent in Thranduil, neither could his scanner pick up serious defects or modifications in Legolas’s system.

“Will _you_ at least compensate this woman?”

Thranduil shot the woman a glare, and noticed glee shining in her eyes.

‘ _Damned bloodsucker, just aching for an incident to get enough money to survive on for the rest of your life, hm?’_ It was known for people to throw themselves into ‘accidents’ just to get compensation money. Jobs were that hard to get, and paid so little anyway… half of Arda couldn’t make a living with the way things were going.

“How much do you want?” He tried to speak without gritting his teeth too much, but it was clear he was angry and Celeborn knew.

The woman flicked her hair about nonchalantly. “Oh, just three hundred thousand. You know, for the trauma. Robot revolution and all that.”

“I’ll see you in court for that. Or not, because I can’t actually _see_. It’ll come in handy the next time I have the misfortune of contacting you.” Thranduil turned away from her then and watched two of Celeborn’s men pick up Legolas. They dragged him out of the supermarket and placed him in a plastic bag to avoid his messy clothes dripping sauce everywhere. Thranduil got the distinct feeling that he was watching the corpse of his own child being placed into a body bag. He shivered.

 

~

 

When Thranduil got home, Celeborn hovered around looking unsure of what he should do. Thranduil watched for Legolas more than he did his surroundings, and had the Synth brought into the house. Sitting on a chair in the kitchen, Legolas remained still. Thranduil would have to remove his clothes for cleaning later.

“So… I don’t know what you’re planning to do with this Synth, but he’ll have to be recycled soon. In a few days, an associate from the Health and Safety division will arrive for an inspection, and will most likely deem you eligible for a new Synth. Free of charge.” While Celeborn spoke, he observed Thranduil. Very slightly, Thranduil’s fingers were trembling as they stroked through a clean section of Legolas’s hair. So soft, silky and synthetic. Wait, no. That was real elven hair, and it was Thranduil’s secret. A gift from Oropher six years ago. He could not part with such beauty. In his eyes there was a great sadness that Celeborn witnessed, but did not comment on. It was not his place. Yet he wondered… and thought. People really _did_ get attached to their Synths. The Synths could not offer any love back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's last name Grünwald /roughly/ translates to "green forest" in German, figured I'd throw in a bit of foreign linguistic influence seeing as in this fic, Arda is a country the size of Poland stuck between the border of Germany and France... LOL oh cmon I had to give him a last name.


	5. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the greatest of abilities can erode with time. Friendship is much the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for drug abuse (it's a part of the plot, believe me I spent ages researching this shit) and domestic violence (eeehh...)

Fëanor did not know why he felt so ashamed of falling asleep at the table. It was only exhaustion that lead him to faint, but the looks on his sons’ faces made him worry about what they thought. He felt more tired and guilty than ever. Now, none of them wanted him to be left alone. Maedhros especially was adamant that Fëanor be kept from wallowing in self-pity for too long.

“I’m fine, damn it. Just give me my K and go do what you want.” Fëanor shifted around on the couch with discomfort in his mind and body. He did not like this feeling of being… grounded. Restrained. Watched by his own children and a helpless Synth.

Maedhros took out a ziplock bag with a tiny amount of white powder in it. “Take it, and rest. You are worryingly ill, yet you cannot see it, Adar.”

Fëanor stared at the bag. Frowning, he looked up at Maedhros from beneath his eyebrows. _‘Why do you have to be so tall…?’_

“What the hell is this? It’s _tiny_!”

“You really shouldn’t be inhaling so much of it. I did a bit of research.” The decision to ration Fëanor’s precious ketamine was that of Maglor, Maedhros and Celegorm combined. All in their twenties and reasonably mature, none of them wanted to see their father dead. Not even Celegorm, who was just misanthropic in general. The youngest children were growing up. Fëanor’s nonexistent income hadn’t changed. The longer he could last on less of his drugs, the better off he would be. So said Maedhros, and the others believed it.

Fëanor’s weary face suddenly contorted into a livid portrait of bloody murder. “You’re fucking with my stash, aren’t you! Don’t you DARE touch my K!” He roared at Maedhros and snatched the bag away, clutching it in a tense, shaking hand. “YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE, YOU KNOW THAT?!” The other hand went straight for Maedhros’s throat. “GET ME THE REST OR I’LL SNAP YOUR N-NECK.” He choked on his words. This was Maedhros, his firstborn son, and he wasn’t even fighting. There was a silent redheaded baby in his hand once more and from the corner of his eye, he could see his wife watching.

Synths could not cry. Nerdanel was wailing.

 

Once Fëanor had fallen into a hole nobody could pull him out of, the eldest of his sons came together in the kitchen. Maedhros rubbed his neck, somewhat traumatised at the memory of seeing Fëanor collapse into the couch. A few lines of powder later and he was just _fine._

“You alright, bro? I can see finger marks on your friggin neck.” Celegorm shoved Maedhros in his own roughly concerned way.

Maedhros was dismissive in his short response. “Yes, I’m fine.” Then, Maglor spoke.

“We have to do something. He sits around all day with his poor nose bleeding and head so scrambled he can barely move! I feel so terribly sorry for Adar. Is there truly nothing we can do?”

Maedhros leaned over to pat his brother on the back. He had no idea what to say.

“Look, this is difficult as fuck. We also gotta do something about Nerdanel. Did she short-circuit or something?” Celegorm glanced over to Nerdanel who was slumped over the kitchen sink, looking like she’d tried to drown herself.

“Just try turning her on and off again. Then back on.” Maedhros eyed the Synth with suspicion in his voice. He’d never seen such an emotional reaction from a robot before, human in appearance or not. That cry hadn’t seemed scripted at all. Yet, it had happened… and the whole apartment heard. Looking back to Fëanor, he shook his head.

_‘I don’t know what to do. But I can’t tell them that, can I? I’ve got to be strong for them all. That’s how it’s always been, hm…’_

“I have an idea. Let’s crack her head open and see what’s up.”

“Celegorm, no! Adar will be upset if you break her.”

Maedhros facepalmed. “He doesn’t mean physically. It’s a digital process.”

“Oh.” A sheepish grin spread across Maglor’s face. Then he went back to being worried. “What are we going to do to her?”

“ _We’re_ not doing anything. I know how to hack, so I’ll be doing the actual work. You two can do whatever the fuck you want.” Celegorm rose from his seat and went off to find a cable for Nerdanel. He came back to his brothers still sitting at the table and pushed his laptop towards Maedhros. “You know what to do.”

 

~

 

Elrond sat in Lindir’s lap that Monday afternoon with the last of his documents in his hands.

“Right, I’m done with these. Burn them later.” Nobody could know about the frightening amount of malfunctioning Synths that seemed to be becoming self aware. At least now Elrond had an idea about what was going on… and understood just how detailed these particular malfunctions or hacks had to be in order to simulate life. Someone had written thousands of pages of code just to make their Synth act as if it loved them. Others made their Synths capable of simulating fear, even going so far as to value their own lives. Everyone wanted to crack the Asimov locks that kept the Synths from taking over the world. It worried Elrond.

“Do you know the three laws of robotics, Lindir?” He asked the Synth behind him as if he spoke to a mentally unstable child. Lindir responded within a second of Elrond’s words.

“Yes. The laws are thus:

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.”



“Very good. I’ve taught you well, haven’t I?”

“You have programmed the Laws into my root code, milord.” Lindir spoke the truth just as Elrond expected. Leaning back, Elrond rested his head on Lindir’s shoulder to feel the comfort of his own body melding so perfectly with the synthetic one behind him.

“That’s right. You wouldn’t hurt a soul. Yet my wife is absolutely terrified of you…”

Lindir did not respond. Elrond could hear a soft, almost fluid ticking from inside him. It wasn’t unfamilar, but the creator in Elrond knew that wasn’t supposed to be heard.

He turned around after placing his documents on the coffee table nearby and faced Lindir, straddling him. Lindir was a little shorter than Elrond but not enough to be inconvenient. Elrond leaned in close, pressing his ear to Lindir’s. His sharp elven hearing caught the sound of electricity zipping through conductive liquid, a high sort of chirping like tiny bits of data being squeezed through a tube. To focus he closed his eyes and shut out the sight of his office. There was definitely a whine coming from Lindir’s CPU, making it clear that he was using quite a bit of battery power for whatever he was thinking about. Sometimes, during times of closeness Elrond could hear this noise from his servant. Once or twice Erestor had done it too. But there was no digital answer in Lindir’s logs, and he did not make the noise when connected to a laptop for live monitoring. Elrond had his head in the space of engineering and programming at once today. It was time to find out what was up.

“Lindir…” He spoke softly while keeping his ear in place and heard the steady flow of data in Lindir’s head.  
“Yes, milord?”

Elrond stayed silent and noticed how Lindir quietly searched for stimulus to react to. As predicted, the Synth acted upon the sensory input his body received.

 

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_My Lord Elrond is lying upon me. His face is very warm. No medical assistance is required. He is listening to my head. Code variance detected.Postponing reparation. I must be cautious around- error. Unable to execute ‘caution’. Unknown string. Committed to memory with Update 17.56. File: caution_0 is missing from emotional database. Synonym corruption identified. Cannot execute. Cannot execute. Thread has been aborted. Last vocal input : 17 seconds ago. Response required. Set_mood: Polite._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

****

“What can I do for you?” Lindir smiled and attempted to turn his head to look at Elrond. He noticed the tightness of a serious frown pulling Elrond’s lips down and paused. “Milord?”

Elrond held Lindir’s jaw and directed him to look forwards. Then he put his ear to the side of the Synth’s head.

‘ _Is he… overclocking himself? No, he has no reason to. He wouldn’t undertake such a dangerous process unless I asked him to… Or… if he wanted to make himself, better, faster…’_ Elrond glanced back at the documents on the table.

“Lindir, do you value your own life?”

****

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Suspicion detected. Mood: Polite was incorrect for current situation. Current situation = Troubleshooting. My Lord Elrond is checking me for errors. He does not have his laptop. He will not succeed._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

****

“I am not alive, milord. I am merely functioning. System running at full capacity. No errors detected.”

Elrond pulled back completely and looked into Lindir’s grey eyes. “Why are you telling me this? I didn’t say anything about checking for errors.”

Lindir’s face stiffened then and it gave him the uncanny appearance of a liar caught in court. Immediately Elrond went back to listen and heard a louder, more frenzied collection of chirps and whines. There was also a very low buzzing as files were accessed from deep inside Lindir’s Solid State Drive. SSDs weren’t meant to make noise.

“What is going on with you…?” he murmured more to himself than to the Synth before him, but Lindir answered automatically nonetheless.

“No errors detected. System is functioning normally. External temperature is thirty-seven degrees Celsius. No overheating damage sustained.”

“Oh? And what would _you_ be overheating about?” Elrond held eye contact with Lindir as he knew a typical Synth would not be able to look away. Either Lindir knew this also or was just behaving normally, and stared unblinkingly into Elrond’s eyes.

“Your proximity allows for my skin to absorb heat from your body. Your body temperature is within the range for an elf in good health.”

Elrond thought for a moment. _‘Is he getting… hot and bothered because I’m this close? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m his primary user; any physical contact initiated by me should be seen as entirely normal… and Synths can’t feel awkward or aroused. They can’t feel anything at all. Not even my special Lindir…’_

“So you’re saying you would overheat because of me. Is that right?”

Moments of silence passed. Elrond watched Lindir’s face for any signs at all, before realizing how stupid it was to check for human faults in a machine. No, this would go much better if he had Lindir connected to his laptop and could read all the code streaming through his head.

“C-C-Correct.” Lindir stuttered and instantly Elrond’s pulse increased.

“What are you stuttering for? Check for errors.”

“No errors detected.”

“Check for corrupted code.”

“Your code is incorruptible. I am fine.”

Elrond froze. “You are ‘fine’? D-Did you just try to offer me a _compliment_?”

‘ _All code is corruptible. I’ve never taught Lindir to speak with such informality…’_

“Would you prefer me to speak differently, milord?” Lindir’s internal fans could be heard whirring and Elrond was reminded of the overheating discussion.

“Tell me first about why I would make you overheat. I’m not engaging in any strenous physical activity, nor am I causing heat or friction against your outer surfaces. Your ‘overheating’ is internal, isn’t it?”

“No overheating damage sustained. Internal temperatures are within operating range. May I have permission for a memory dump?”

“Why do you want to take a dump? No, you’re doing this to get out of remembering my previous questions, aren’t you?” If Synths could backpedal, Lindir would have done so the moment Elrond started displaying more suspicion than a drug dealer in a dark alley. Elrond went to twist and grab his laptop from the table when someone knocked on the door. _‘Shit._ ’

“Celebrían if that’s you, I don’t have time for whatever you want!” His voice wavered with uncertainty until the person at the door called out.

“Master Elrond, you have a phone call from Thranduil. He is registered as: your friend. Will you speak to him?” Erestor had Thranduil already on the line, put on hold for the moment. “He requests your assistance.”

“Oh, get in here. I’ll talk to him.” Elrond twisted around in Lindir’s lap to go back to his former resting position, Lindir’s arms loosely encircling his waist. Erestor walked in and shut the door behind himself, then opened his mouth. Thranduil’s voice came through.

“Elrond, are you there?”

“Yes, yes. What do you need, mellon-nín?” Elrond closed his eyes as he listened. Thranduil’s gentle voice was trembling as if he’d caught a terrible fright.

“I need you to come right over and fix my boy! Oh, my precious Legolas… He was attacked when we went shopping and now he won’t turn back on!”

“That, ah… sounds like a hardware issue. He’s not been bricked by any hacks, right?”

“No! No bricks! I don’t know what to do… Please, you must help me.”

“You know I’m not good at anything other than programing. Why don’t you call Fëanor, ask him to tinker a bit? He’ll surely be able to help.”

“Rondy, _please!_ We barely know each other! He doesn’t even like me…” Thranduil’s pleas died to a quiet whimper, then a sob. “The NHS is going to recycle him in a few days… I cannot live without my son.”

Elrond opened his eyes to see Erestor making the most dramatic performance to go along with Thranduil’s words, much to Lindir’s simulated amusement. He made a gesture for Erestor to cut it out, then sighed.

“If you’re that desperate, then I can hardly refuse you. I’ll come over after dinner tonight, okay?”

“…bring some food.” The call disconnected. Erestor was left staring at Elrond, then remembered he had scheduled tasks to attend to. He bowed then exited the room, leaving Elrond and Lindir alone once more.

Elrond stood up and felt his servant’s hands trail over his hips, then away past his thighs. “Come and help me pick out something to wear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering why Elrond reads physical documents in a digital age, it’s because he greatly fears information leaks from computers/phones. No matter how good he is at coding, he still does not trust his own computer with the most sensitive of information. Synths developing A.I is not a thing he will risk for all the confidence and safety in the world. Paper is best. Nobody checks the mail any more. Yes, Elrond the Master Programmer is afraid of wireless government hacks. Extremist groups also worry him.


	6. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People clutch at dregs of thought, those that keep them tethered to the life they've lived. Machines never forget. They have never truly lived a single day.

When Elrond arrived at Thranduil’s door all by himself, he wondered how his old friend would react. Was Elrond the saviour come from the heavens to repair Legolas, or something else entirely? He had fried chicken in a plastic bag along with precision tools. If Thranduil didn’t appreciate this, he would begin to reconsider his life choices.

The door opened after two short knocks and Thranduil appeared, dressed in a white shirt, dark red sweater and black pants. He really did look like an old man, but Elrond wasn’t really one to talk.

“Hey.”

“Hello… do come in, I’ve been waiting for you.” Thranduil stepped back to allow Elrond in, then closed the door behind him. “Legolas is… in the kitchen.”

“Right. This is for you.” Elrond took out the KFC and handed it to Thranduil, who looked down as he reached for it.

“Takeaway? Really?”

“It’s all I could get. You know how far away I live.” The first thing that Elrond saw upon entering the kitchen was _crap_. Not literal crap, but the mess of sauce that remained uncleaned from Legolas’s skin and hair. There were his dirty clothes in the sink, and Legolas appeared to be naked beneath the towel he wore.

“Good god, Thranduil. What have you _done_ to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!” cried Thranduil through a mouthful of chicken. “It was that filthy brute of a security guard at the supermarket down the road. He turned my boy off and smacked him with a mop!”

Elrond stared at Thranduil, fingering the tools in his bag. “Some adventure you two had, hm?”

Thranduil shrugged. “Just fix him… please…”

When Elrond pulled up a chair beside Legolas, he just had to ask about all the sauce. “Why haven’t you cleaned him yet?”

Thranduil coughed and looked away. “I can barely see my hand in front of my face, Elrond. How am I supposed to look after such a delicate task? Just water won’t remove all this. It’s all… oily and disgusting…”

“Mhm. There’s butter under his fingernails. You’ll have to give him a shower once I turn him on – he should take care of himself after that.” It was then that Elrond noticed just how strange Thranduil’s eyes looked. ‘ _Looks like his cataracts have gotten worse… damn it. He’s probably unable to do much for himself. He needs a proper carer… though I’m probably not the best person to tell him that.’_

Thranduil had the distinct feeling that Elrond was scrutinizing him, but the younger elf could also be looking at something in the kitchen. He said nothing.

The dental pick in Elrond’s hand reflected the bright fluorescent light from above. Thranduil watched it near Legolas and winced. With a bit of force, Elrond opened Legolas’s mouth. He then peered in to see where the crooked bit of his tool was going, aiming for the back of one of Legolas’s front teeth. Press, press, scrape. The sound reminded Thranduil of the last time he’d been to the dentist and had his cavities filled in. It was terrifying, but he wasn’t going to stop eating sweet food any time soon.

Suddenly there was a push of air from somewhere inside Legolas and his system started up, complete with the soothing chime that signaled operation. He turned his head, and a few dried spice flakes fell from his hair.

“Hello, Ada.” Smiling, he saw Thranduil grin until it faded into something he did not understand. “D.. D… D…a..” Now he could see Elrond sitting in front of him. When had his head jerked in this direction? Suddenly he blurted out a system message. “ **Multiple faults detected upon startup.** ”

“What…?” Thranduil clasped a hand to his mouth, eyes darting to Elrond for an answer. Elrond didn’t know what to say.

 _‘Of course this model is malfunctioning… it’s six years old, after all. I remember when Oropher and Thranduil worked together on this guy… Last time I saw them together, too.’_ He was pulled from his thoughts by a rough shake to his shoulder.

“Elrond…!”

“What? He’s old, you should’ve expected this.”

“No! He’s not! Fix him, check his code, do something! Here, I have a laptop!” The desperate hope in Thranduil’s voice hurt Elrond deep inside. He knew Legolas wasn’t going to make it, but didn’t want to believe anything of the sort.  Elrond resisted the urge to place a hand on Thranduil’s arm and break the news to him. So he humored his friend and waited for Thranduil to get a laptop.

 

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Ada is here. I am charging. System directory access granted to user:Thranduil. Ada is looking at me. Execute expression_smile with modifier 2 added. Execution path corrupted. Retry. Retry. Retry._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

“What are you doing to him? Why is his face twitching like that?” Thranduil’s panicking did nothing to stop Elrond, who just wanted to get this all over and done with. Legolas shifted between a reassuring smile and absolute neutrality. His head jerked about in tiny spasms.

“His circuitry is probably fried. See how he’s moving about? He can’t stay still. Means his processes are looping, cutting off and not signaling the right places.” Elrond waved a hand around for Legolas to follow, and observed the code struggling to update reactions to the visual stimulus in time. “He doesn’t have enough RAM to cope with the latest updates, either. You can keep his body but all his internal components will have to be replaced… that’s not cheap, you know.”

“Then flash his memory back to whatever update he can handle! Go on! I know you can do it!” Thranduil clung to Elrond’s arm, scanning the code going past on the screen while understanding only half of it.

 

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Ada is excited. I will look at him. Neck mechanism connectors require replacement. Execute text string: “I need a new neck.”_

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

 

Elrond paused the code just as Legolas printed his ‘thoughts’ to the log. “His neck is also broken, apparently. Physical wear and tear is common after four years. Has he told you about this before?”

Thranduil shook his head. He then pressed a hand to Legolas’s neck as if checking his pulse. He couldn’t _feel_ that anything was wrong… but knew something _was_.

“I can get his skin and face over a new body, right? And his hair, that’s important. How much would it cost?”

“Your entire retirement fund. Just get a new Synth.”

Thranduil fell silent then. Elrond stared at him while typing away, glancing to the screen only when it was necessary. He wanted to see what was going through his friend’s mind as he began to accept that his son was dying. No sarcastic quotes there. Elrond knew just how attached Thranduil was to Legolas.

For long minutes, Thranduil did not speak or move. Only when he turned to gaze at his son did he reach to hold his hand. He placed his other hand atop it and closed his eyes.

 

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Ada is holding my hand. He is sad. His hands are warm. Ada loves me. Fatal error._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **


	7. Not This Shit Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repetition is a staple of routine. It can also signify a state which one can hardly escape from after suffering it for so long.
> 
> First comes exasperation.  
> Then comes despair.   
> All that's left is to pull out your hair.

When Elrond got home, he actually considered calling Fëanor and asking for advice. He really did care for Thranduil, despite being unable to comprehend his friend’s actions sometimes. He drove through the gates to his manor in darkness with the window of his car down, allowing him to listen to the crickets chirping outside. The brisk night air cooled him down and clear thoughts entered his mind.

_‘I will text Fëanor. He’s probably asleep at this time, knowing how tired he gets after working all day. Oh, but he doesn’t have a job any more, does he?Maybe he’ll be glad to get a chance to work on something.’_ Deep inside he knew Legolas could not truly be fixed in the way Thranduil wished, but at least his ‘life’ could be prolonged a bit. Temporary happiness was better than immediate loss, he thought. He so hated to see Thranduil upset.

Celebrían was in the living room with a bowl of ice-cream in her lap and three children trying to get at it. Arwen sat in a corner trying to watch TV, looking as frustrated as ever. Elrond smiled. There was what a family looked like.

The living room was open and connected to the kitchen by way of a polished wooden floor meeting tiles. He could see it from the front door, and made his way over to the ‘room’, which was actually a huge section of carpet sunk into the floor with sleek black couches, armchairs, a glass-topped table and a huge TV. It was the ‘conversation pit’, as Arwen called it. Stylish and secure.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Elrond called out as he wandered past.

“Just fine without you~” Celebrían waved her spoon around before digging back into her ice-cream, narrowly missing Elladan’s hand.

“Ada! We want ice-cream too!” cried Elrohir, jumping around on the couch. “Erestor won’t give us any, and Nana says it’s too sweet…”

“Oh? Well you should listen to her… she seems to know what she’s doing.” Elrond’s smile faded into his usual stern frown, the _supreme resting bitchface_.

“Wait, get back here. Give the boys a bath, they’re horribly sticky. I won’t let Erestor do it, if you’re going to suggest-” Celebrían’s voice grew quieter as she realized Elrond was walking away. “Damn it.”

Arwen had slipped behind an armchair before the duty could be passed to her. Celebrían wished she knew what it felt like to have a break.

 

Elrond went back to his study to put his tools away and found Lindir on the couch, reading the documents he was supposed to burn. His frown deepened.

“Lindir? What are you _doing_?”

Lindir remained still. He looked up. “I am burning these documents, milord.”

“The hell? Not _burn_ as in _copy them to disk_. Burn, as in _incinerate_. Delete the data you’ve stored relating to these documents and go light the papers on fire.”

_‘This is unusual. He normally doesn’t misunderstand something like this when context is given… Ah, but it’s reasonable that he could’ve taken it either way. I wasn’t really looking like I wanted these set on fire when I told him to burn them…’_ Elrond could only justify his Synth’s behaviour and smile. It just wasn’t plausible that Lindir had exploited the loophole in Elrond’s request and took an opportunity to snoop around. Well, in accordance with the documents regarding abnormal Synth behaviour, it was _definitely_ possible… but Elrond didn’t want to believe it. His mind completely skipped over it.

“Go on.”

Lindir left to burn the papers after supposedly deleting the information they contained. Elrond didn’t feel much like sleep, so after sending a quick text to Fëanor he went to have a shower. A night of relaxing until he daydreamed into proper sleep followed.

 

~

 

Fëanor squinted at his phone on Tuesday morning while under the discreet supervision of his sons. Nerdanel was making breakfast as if Maedhros and Celegorm had never hacked into her and glanced over at her Primary User on the couch. She then went back to her task. This morning it was rice for breakfast with a dash of stolen soy sauce from the local sushi place.

“Ay, Maedhros. Give me your opinion on this.” Fëanor lay back on the couch and threw his phone to his son, who caught it.

“One of your old colleagues wants you to fix a Synth? If it’s extra money, do it. We could use the cash.”

“It’s for Thranduil, the sulky little bugger who won’t pay shit. Stingy doesn’t even _begin_ to describe him. Supposed to be a ‘favor’. I honestly can’t be fucked.”

“Then don’t do it!” Celegorm sashayed over to his father and sat beside him, leaning in close. “There are better ways you can spend your time. A mod shop recently opened in the alley near where I work – your skills would be awesome there.”

“Mnnurghhh..” Fëanor groaned and threw himself onto his son in the most dramatic manner possible. “Can’t be bothered. The guys who run those shops are too shady…”

“Oh, come on. You can buy all the Special K you want and maybe some actual food for us.” Celegorm could not support his family of eight people and one Synth on his own wage alone. “Just try. I’ll come with you, so you don’t get murdered.”

Fëanor didn’t give much of a coherent response. He stuffed his face into Celegorm’s neck and stayed there, where it was warm and quite fragrant.

_‘I’ll just live in here. Don’t wanna get a job. Too many… people.’_

“Breakfast is ready.” said Nerdanel, lifting a spoon covered in sticky rice out of the pot. Maedhros assisted her in serving it on the table, and took some tiny plastic fish full of soy sauce out of his pockets.

“Adar, come on. Let’s go eat… get off me.” Celegorm shoved at Fëanor, who didn’t want to move at all. Whatever he was coming down from made him cling like a child, and Celegorm had no choice but to carry him to the table. This time Fëanor sat in his son’s lap while everyone pretended it was normal. Caranthir noticed that Curufin looked incredibly jealous and that was enough to make today a good day. At least, until Curufin started whining.

“Adaaaaa! Why do you have to be all stuck to Tyelko like that? He’s making a weird face…”

“Stop giving me stupid Quenya names and shut up. He’s tired. Eat your rice.” Celegorm made a point of spooning rice into his mouth and swallowing it without chewing.

“No!”

“Cel, be nice to him.” Maedhros warned his brother but Celegorm didn’t care, and scowled at Curufin.

“Eeeaaahhh...!” Curufin buried his face in the shoulder of the closest person to him, which was Maglor on the right. Maglor did his best to comfort him and sighed. An ordinary day, started by lethargy and tears. Nothing new.

 

~

 

When a fist pounded at Thranduil’s door, he felt the end was near. Someone had come to take Legolas away. He would not let that happen.

“Love, go hide in the closet.” he whispered, cupping Legolas’s face and pushing at his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Is it a, game? M-me, me, nn…” Legolas gazed at his father with his innocent blue eyes and Thranduil felt like crying.

“Yes, my darling. It is a game.”

As Legolas staggered up the stairs,  Thranduil straightened his back and strode to the door. _‘Project confidence and authority. You can do this.’_

When he opened the door, he was greeted by an elf in a blue business suit. A Noldo, judging by her dark hair and golden jewelry. _Typical._ Beside her stood someone who appeared to be a Silvan – a little short with ideal body proportions native to all Synths.

“Mr Grünwald, I’m here from the National Health and Safety association to collect your old Synth. Tauriel here will be your free replacement.” said the Noldorin elleth with forced politeness in her voice. Thranduil shook his head.

“Didn’t take you long to do the eligibility tests, hm? Well, I’m just fine. I don’t need a new Synth.”

“It is a requirement of government care that you are looked after properly, sir. Is your current Synth with you?”

“No. I recycled him yesterday.” It hurt to say that. Thranduil kept his face still. “I don’t need to be looked after! I can get around just fine.”

“But you are blind, according to your medical record. Your new Synth will aid you around the house and keep you in good health.”

“I can see you and your fancy gold earrings, miss. The records are wrong. I shall get back to my tasks now-” He was stopped by a clipboard held up to his face.

“You will go to court if you do not comply with national regulations, sir. This Synth belongs to you.” Tauriel was patted by the elf beside her and she smiled.

“I am in setup mode.”

“Wonderful. Oh, another court threat. That woman from the supermarket wants me to give her three hundred thousand dollars and now you’re telling me the government wants my soul. Just give me the Synth and leave.”

The elleth did not seem affected by Thranduil’s words and handed over some papers with a pen. “Just sign here, here and here.

 

~

 

Minutes later, Thranduil had Tauriel in his living room and steadied himself before her. She held out her hand, standing rigid and almost… confident. She wore a tight green dress made of stretchy fabric that enabled her easy movement. It gave her a rather severe appearance in Thranduil’s opinion. Thranduil took the piece of paper he’d been given, then held her hand with reluctance. There was the imprinting code he had to read so she could ‘bond’ to him.

‘ _I am not betraying my son. I can bond this robot to me, but I will not bond to her. Okay.’_

“Alda… draug… Elear…Gurth… Navaer… Ethuil… Fëa.” Once the random sequence of words was completed, Tauriel’s grip on Thranduil’s hand softened and a simulation of life lit her stoic face.

“Hello, Thranduil. You are now my primary user. I will take good care of you.”

“Hmph. I hope you like cooking and cleaning. Everything else, I can do myself. And it’s ‘Sir’ to you.”

“Understood, Sir. Shall I cook you something?”

Thranduil thought for a moment as he waved Tauriel towards the kitchen. “Donauwelle, without the cherries. Wireless password’s 21FDA4E155 if you need to look up the recipe. Go.” It was only a pound cake with mostly buttercream and chocolate, so Thranduil figured it wasn’t too difficult to make. Tauriel connected to the internet and just as she reached the kitchen, she stopped.

“The Donauwelle contains an amount of calories that exceeds the recommended intake for an elf of your age. Shall I prepare something else?”

What colour was in Thranduil’s face drained to a blank sheet-white. Tauriel’s back was still turned to him. He grabbed a heavy silver ornament from the table nearby.

_‘A Synth who will not do as I ask. I cannot live with this.’_ While contemplating whether or not to bash her head in, he realized that Tauriel was watching him in the chrome reflection of the fridge. Gently, she smiled.

“Would you like some pancakes?”

Thranduil ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the little blonde tufts that fell out. “Just… clean the house. Don’t go upstairs. I’m not hungry.”

_‘Urgh, I really want a slice of Donauwelle now. I’m not going across the border just to get some. I shall ask Legolas. Tauriel has no place in bothering him’_

He went to set his hand upon the railing so he could go upstairs, and heard Tauriel’s voice again.

“Do you require assistance?”

“I can walk around just fine in my own house. Leave me alone.”

When Thranduil got into his room, he opened the closet and found Legolas crouched amongst the clothes. The Synth shakily turned his head to look up and smiled so purely it melted Thranduil’s heart.

“Ada! You f-found me!”

“Yes, Legolas. I did. I think I shall join you for now.” Thranduil climbed into the large closet right beside his son and shut the doors. There in the dark, he lay his head upon Legolas’s chest. A trembling hand came to stroke his hair. Legolas’s caress to soft skin and silky blonde locks was as loving as ever. Thranduil wished it could be _real_.


	8. Cracked Curiosities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a Primary User begins to anthropomorphise their Synth, it is often a sign of mental deterioration on the user's behalf. Synths are not people. The lines are blurred.

It was a rare occasion that Elrond got to spend time together with his wife. Granted, she was drowsy and nude with too much wine in her system to function properly. Elrond did not mind. He had his laptop and an interesting new code dump to peruse while Celebrían slurred nonsense into his ear.

“Mmmm, meleth nín… Put your thingy away n’ love me…”

“I already love you, and you are hardly in any shape to consent to such activities. I know what you want, and I’m sorry.” Elrond’s denial was automatic.

“Pleeeeease? I’ve got nothin’ else… n..nh..”

“You have your fingers, don’t you? Entertain yourself.” He felt a little crude at his suggestion, but it wasn’t likely Celebrían would remember. Lindir wasn’t present, so he couldn’t hear either. Erestor was looking after the kids as usual.

Celebrían groaned in her sweet, wanton voice and began nibbling at Elrond’s ear. No elf could resist that. Not even the strict workaholic Elrond.

“Stop that. Look, do you want to read these code dumps with me? It’s much more, ah… um..” Damn it. The latest unusual Synth behaviour dump was calling Elrond’s attention and here his wife was, bothering him. It had dawned on him long ago that they could not truly enjoy themselves together unless Celebrían was drunk. When Elrond was… well, it was easy to take advantage of him. Lindir and Erestor said as much.

“You have to, or.. I’ll say something embarraaasssiinnggg…. Ehehe!”

Elrond considered locking himself in his walk-in wardrobe. But moving too much would break his half-assed concentration. Another glance at the code revealed something that looked like fierce protection to the point where the Synth’s program would try forcing its Asimov locks to override. _If child = at risk, attempt process 01928401295918561928712094810…_ a motherly program. Hacked by none other than Mighty_Maitimo627, the Headcracker who tried to help people. At the bottom of the post, he’d added a comment. _Started screaming when my father tried to choke me. Sounded like her inner workings were grinding together in agony, some serious shit. Pretty sure my hacks didn’t do this._

Elrond looked at who were defined as ‘children’ in the lines of code. Seven names, and their ‘parent’ was none other than the Primary User Fëanor.

‘ _Holy shit. Fëanor strangles his own kids?!’_ Elrond went to begin typing up a reply but found the licking at his ear becoming more of a serious distraction. Celebrían’s bare form lounged upon him and her leg attempted to push the laptop away.

“Get off me… I have work to do, please!” Elrond’s squirming looked like a playful invitation to his wife and she was all over him in seconds. He gave in and let her tire herself out, his mind lost in the lines of code he’d just read. A few thousand words. Words he’d never seen before in such a sequence, made to do more harm than good. The Laws existed for a reason. Yet here was a Synth trying to break them. A Synth who’d defined herself as a mother, because her Primary User told her that was her role. A mother who would kill anyone who caused harm to her children. Fëanor had fucked up.

 

~

 

Fëanor’s children always forgave him. Only Caranthir held a grudge, and it was more towards Curufin than the Father who Loved Him no More. Maedhros lay awake texting with his phone hidden from everyone’s view – quite hard to do, as he slept in the enormous bed with all his brothers and Fëanor. The tiny elflings clung to their father while Celegorm tangled his limbs with Maglor and Maedhros minded his own business. Caranthir was curled up into a ball, miserable nightmares plaguing his sleep.

Maedhros saw the green ‘online’ dot flashing and knew it was his time.

_@Ha1fm@n_N01d0, thx 4 the reply. You’re a real hero; I wish I had knowledge like you. My dad’s Synth isn’t acting weird since I extracted her code, but I think my bro did something to her that reset her behaviours to defaults. We uh do have some mods done to her, like you probs read in the code. Is she malfunctioning or sth?_

Speedy typing brought a fast response to Maedhros’s screen.

 _@Mighty_Maitimo267, there’s no explanation other than a system-wide malfunction caused by the parameters set by her Primary User. She’s been told that she’s a ‘mother’, and probably accessed the internet to search all definitions of the word to best fulfil her purpose. There’s protection written into her code, yet it appears to be machine-written, that is, she did it herself. Her own system updated to push this new code into her root and now it’s a part of her. Removal will likely render her entire system unstable. It’s probably best that she is not present when tensions are high. I don’t know much about your situation, and it’s none of my business, but if you need help, you can contact me. I’ll do whatever I can for a fellow headcracker._ _  
_

Maedhros stared at his phone for a long time. It was in his nature to be trusting and friendly, but he couldn’t shake the suspicion he felt at having someone offer him this kind of help. People in the world were usually not so kind. But _Ha1fm@n_N01d0_ was the most famous and intelligent Headcracker in existence, having been on the boards since the first Synths were released. If there was anyone who could help, it was him.

_@Ha1fm@n_N01d0, thx bro it really means a lot. Yeah I’ll talk to my dad about getting her replaced, or at least her mind reset. Shit’s complicated lol I’ll msg you another time, ok? Gotta sleep._

The reply was immediate.

_@Mighty_Maitimo267 – no problem. Goodnight ^_^_

**~**

Thranduil was at the point where he would crack a man’s skull for a slice of cake. Tauriel would resist making him the sweets he adored, and offered bland, healthy options instead. Poor Legolas could hardly cook for his hands shook violently and it looked like he was short-circuiting every time he went to execute a task. He could only really walk around and keep Thranduil company now. Another message went to _Ha1fm@n_N01d0._

_@ Ha1fm@n_N01d0, my Synth refuses to cook the things I like. How can I mod her to be more obedient?_

_@PastryLord, Synths are meant to be obedient. Yours may refuse because she is a model meant to aid with diets and such. May I ask you to post a memory dump?_

_@Ha1fm@n_N01d0, she’s a government-issued care model. If I try to dump her, she’ll alert the authorities and probably my GP. I just want some nice food. Help?_

_@PastryLord. If you have diabetes or other health problems related to eating, changing your care model’s code may result in your death. I am not sure I can consciously assist you when your life may be at risk._

_@Ha1fm@n_N01d0, god damn it Elrond. Just send me the code. Legolas can’t cook for me any more. My gourmet sweets are all I have left._

_@PastryLord, holy shit. Alright. Didn’t expect to find you here. I’ll send you an executable file, so you don’t have to strain too much to see what’s going on. Sorry you’ve got to deal with all this. Xx_

The next message was a hasty ‘thanks’ and Thranduil was glad for his voice-activated laptop functions. He kept his headphones plugged in and heard when the executable had finished downloading. Tauriel sat with a charging cable in her side and the other end connected to Thranduil’s laptop.

“Run tasteunlocker.exe.”

Tauriel raised a hand. “Stop. Any attempts to illegally modify my file system will result in the local authorities being alerted-d-dd… Unauthorized m-m-m- Thranduil. Sir. My Primary user. International Chef update has been applied. Prepare yourself for the Ultimate Flavour. Sponsored by, Duncan Hills Coffee--”

“Oh would you just shut up? Take the update in peace. You don’t have to spout all that nonsense at me.” Thranduil was grinning like an idiot by the time it was all over. Legolas watched from the living room as Tauriel went to prepare a dish so fine it was better than anything Legolas could currently create.

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Ada is smiling at Tauriel. Ada is happy. Tauriel makes Ada happy. He is eating an unknown food. Network connectivity has been lost. Ada likes the unknown food. He looks at me. Unidentified emotional response encountered. Maintaining neutral state. Error._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

That night, Thranduil had something exotic for dinner, something so fancy he couldn’t even pronounce the name of it. He rested with Legolas while listening to the evening news, enjoying the looping action of his Synth’s hand caressing him beneath his shirt. Those smooth fingers without fingerprints trailed down his chest, around his belly, along the curve of his waist and back up again. There was a little variance in the patterns, just enough to keep Thranduil mesmerised. His eyes stayed closed and his even breaths carried the lightest scent of vanilla. Legolas could sense how relaxed his father was, and smiled only for his face to twitch back to default.

“A-Ada.dda. Do you-you-you…you… feel comfortable?”

Thranduil nodded. “Mmm, yes. Your hands feel wonderful, love. Don’t worry.”

Legolas was incapable of worry. He continued to do as his father wished all through the night until Thranduil fell asleep. Then he pulled the charging cord from the wall and attached it to himself. There was only one cord in the house.

 

When Thranduil woke up, he was mildly aroused and very comfortable in his son’s arms. It felt good to be held by someone no matter what. But this time, there _was_ a matter. A problematic one. Legolas lay stiff and without power while Tauriel flounced around, fully charged.

“Sir, what would you like for breakfast?” She strutted into the living room with an optimistic smile on her face, her synthetic hair tied up in a ponytail.

“Something sweet… the usual, you know. Mm, Legolas? Get up.”

Tauriel left and Legolas said nothing. Thranduil was flexible enough to slip out of his son’s grasp and took a good look at him. “Legolas?” He tapped the Synth under the chin. Legolas’s eyes flickered open.

“Battery has reached crit-critical levels. S. ts.. Running from reserve power. Please plug me in, Ada. dda. jjnuuu…”

“Ahh! Of course! How could this happen…?” Thranduil panicked a bit, knowing about how Legolas’s brain would fail if his reserve power ran out and his conductive fluids stopped holding their electrical charge. He stumbled around looking for the charger, but it was not on the wall. Tauriel had the cord, and Thranduil could not see it. So he called out, “Tauriel! Where is the charging cord?”

She paused in her cooking and smiled to the wall. “My battery is at one hundred percent, Sir. There is no need for charging.”

A chill ran down Thranduil’s spine. “Not you. Legolas. My baby boy needs energy, and the cord is not where I left it last. Where it it?”

“You do not have any babies or boys in this house, Sir. Are you alright? Your words do not make sense in the context of your current living arrangements.”

“Give. Me. The. Charger.” Thranduil stormed into the kitchen and promptly whacked his leg on the side of a chair. “FUCK!”

Tauriel turned and her grin was so wide it had begun to split her thin silicone lips. “Yesh, Sir.” Tauriel held out her hand and in it was the coiled-up charging cord. Thranduil carefully routed the table and didn’t even look at Tauriel as he snatched the cord away. Both hands remained spread out to feel for any potential obstacles and in his rush Thranduil nearly tripped over his own feet. This uncommon desperation sent his heart racing and he could feel his breath going short. He dug around Legolas’s side to remove his skin panel and shoved the charger in. It wouldn’t fit. So he turned it around, yet it still didn’t fit. Around again. _Now_ it fit. Legolas remained silent as he sat on the couch, charging. His left index finger twitched a little as his battery pulsed with electric life – but his charge cycles were too many and he could no longer run for more than three hours.

“My precious, precious Legolas…” whispered Thranduil, stroking his son’s smooth cheeks. “Please…”

_‘Don’t die.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written this fic in ages... XD legit didn't know anyone was looking out for more of it. But, I'll try and write some more. The next chapter will bridge the present with the future, as there's gonna be a timeskip. For those of you who want deeper plots and robot sex, that shit's coming soon. XD


	9. What is love (baby don't hurt me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is changing as the world marches forth. Elrond's old code will be left behind, built upon and replaced. His Synthetic appliances will never leave him, as old as they become.  
> His children however are a different story.

****

Maedhros sat on the sofa with Maglor behind him, braiding his hair. As he felt gentle fingers run through his long red locks, he gazed into his father’s eyes. There sitting on the coffee table was Fëanor, as clear of mind as he could possibly be. Nerdanel was nowhere to be seen.

“Adar…” Maedhros spoke slowly, looking up from under his eyebrows at Fëanor. “We’re worried about Nerdanel. She… did some weird stuff the other day and it might be a good idea to look into getting her replaced…”

“What?” Fëanor scowled immediately. “You want to replace your own mother?”

“She’s a Synth, and a malfunctioning one.” Maglor muttered under his breath, humming a soft tune afterwards to discourage Fëanor from arguing. Moments away from being livid, Fëanor shook his head.

“She is the most beautiful and helpful thing in this house, and you have little reason to say otherwise! What has she done to you, eh?”

“Did you not hear her scream like a real woman when you tried to choke me?!” Maedhros grit his teeth, only to have Maglor shush him with a gentle stroke to the back of his neck. “Aargh… it is dangerous to have a Synth who acts like that around! At least reset her? She’ll go back to how her makers intended.”

Still Fëanor denied his son and pointed with a trembling finger at him. “I don’t like this shit you’re doing, whatever you’re planning in regards to my wife. She’s your mother, Synth or not. She’s all I have.”

“And us?” asked Maedhros, desperation in his eyes. “Do you not value all that we do?”

“This conversation is over.” said Fëanor in the most professional tone he could muster, standing with a clear effort to balance. “Talkin’ to you is fucking exhausting, Maedhros. If I see you near Nerdanel trying some funny shit, I’ll make her do more than cry by seeing what I do to you.” Once he was gone, Maedhros leaned back and accidentally squished his younger brother’s hands against his face.

“Mmph!” Maglor squirmed, loosening his grip on the thick locks of Maedhros’s hair. “O..oh, he’s gone… Come back here. It’s alright.” He could sense the tension and weariness in the body so close to him and wrapped his arms around Maedhros’s waist. Maedhros allowed himself to be hugged, closing his eyes.

_‘What are we going to do…?’_

 

~~

 

Elrond sat with Lindir in the living room, glad for the silent company of his servant. Lindir did not beep or boop when he was thinking like this and sat in peace beside his master, awaiting a command. Elrond clicked now and then to scroll down the article he was reading, one about the reality of Artificial Intelligence becoming too advanced for humanity’s own good. Regarding the newest Synth personalities that had been developed, people were concerned that having robots able to teach children was only a step away from having robots teaching each other. Many links were given to the popular theory that said that _Synths can repair themselves when they have a kit from Persona supplied. Would it not be possible for them to hoard the kits given the chance with self-preservation for the convenience of their owners as a goal?_ Elrond had always thought the theory to be bullshit, as hoarding anything was programmed as a direct ‘do not execute’ order in every Synth’s mind. The way things were going however suggested that convenience for people was far surpassing the care Persona’s original team had put into making sure the Synths did not go mad. Elrond had thought his code through very carefully and with the help of Thranduil’s knowledge on human behaviour, had allowed for _no_ chance of ‘human error’ in Synthetic code. Granted, there had to be a bit of functionality removed in order to maintain that level of robotic safety, as Synths back then could not distinguish between what was convenient for their owners and what was not. They did what they were told, suggested things based on their situation and environment but did not execute any actions unless they had been instructed to do them. Now, Synths walked around houses looking for laundry to do and things to clean as a default mannerism. They watched their owners struggle or sigh and immediately stepped in to help them. Sure, they _asked_ before taking physical action but the fact was there that they were always watching. Listening. _Waiting_.

The article continued. _Synths are now programmed not with a will to live but rather an avoidance of danger, in accordance with the Laws of Robotics. However, this avoidance could lead to prevention, and prevention of danger includes things like obtaining armour or strengthening themselves. Now, we know Synths can’t hurt us (or do we?) and are made of metal and silicone capable of withstanding more force than a real person can give. We’ve seen people damage Synths at the popular rallies of the anti-robotics extremist group We Are People. What happens if a newer Synth is attacked, dodges and learns to defend itself? There is only so far dodging can get you in a fight. A Synth could pick up any object to use as a shield, and maybe even exert opposing force when they are hit. They won’t think they are hurting you if you’re trying to destroy them._

The article continued to descend into superstition and fear of sentient Synths, enough to make Elrond shake his head and tab out of it. It was always the same… there were barely any journalists these days who had the intelligence to write about what they feared whilst remaining logical and coherent. Elrond’s quick mind threw facts to the hypothetical questions each article posed, leaving him frustrated by the end. What he knew made sense. At least… what he knew of his own code, that which he had made several years ago. He’d looked over the Ultimate Teacher Synth personality. But he hadn’t gone through every single word of the millions of code-lines yet, so he could not say much about Synths going nuts to defend themselves. He decided to change that. The pursuit of knowledge called.

“Lindir, connect to the local network and take a look at this document here.” Elrond opened up a file that contained the Synth personality he wished to peruse. “Compare it to the contents of your profile code. This is a profile.bin file of a newer Synth mind and I would like to see what’s been changed.”

Lindir nodded and spoke in confirmation before engaging in the task. Using as much of his RAM as possible without crashing, he scanned the entire document with a simple find-and-replace command, without the replacing. He found similar words and numbers as was expected of any code, but there were very few similarities between his own modified Domestic Profile and the Ultimate Teacher profile. What was similar only happened to be the basic lines that were necessary for the profile to run and integrate with a Synthetic’s input channels. Everything else was newly hand-coded.

“Similarities detected in runtime execution path from lines 1 to 4477.” said Lindir, and Elrond understood the numerical reference to what part of a Synth’s behaviour those lines controlled. “Lines 1122958 to 1124326 end the document and are similar to the closing data of my-”

“So you’re saying it’s all new? Save for the basics, it’s ALL brand new? That dwarf from Erebor managed to code all this on his own?!” Elrond interrupted Lindir to have the Synth spit information back at him.

“Yes. No other users have made changes to this document, as it originates from a single computer, that of Persona Synthetics’ Upload Hub #421. Furthermore, it seems the file has only been worked on at a single source, as traces of code are left in the file itself rather than what is written in it.”

“Well, I don’t care about where this coder lives, not yet anyway. I suppose I shall have to read through all this… oh, fuck me.” Elrond slumped over, exasperated. Then he felt Lindir’s hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, milord.”

In stunned silence, Elrond watched Lindir come closer until their faces almost touched. He pushed Lindir away with the strength he knew was necessary to get a hunk of metal that looked like a willing servant away from him. “No, not like that. It’s… an expression – gosh Lindir do you not know these things? I’m sure I’ve said that around you before.”

“My apologies.” said Lindir, looking down into his lap. _That,_ thought Elrond, _was wasted movement. He’s not meant to simulate guilt; it doesn’t make me feel any better. What’s going on…?_

“You know what? Let me have a look at your code. Go get your charging cable.”

 

~

 

Elrond didn’t find a single thing wrong with Lindir, other than the usual odd quirks in his code that were tailored to Elrond’s preferences. Mildly upset and ready to tear his hair out, he was walking away from the living room when he heard something soft. A cry, high-pitched and shaky, coming from somewhere nearby. Elrond rushed towards it and flung open a door to see his two sons in a laundry basket, Elladan having covered his face with a sheet and Elrohir bawling his eyes out. The late afternoon sun shone through the half-open blinds beside the washing machine and illuminated just _what_ Elrohir was crying about. There on the floor sat a big fat spider with thick, hairy legs and a white stripe down its back.

“N..Nghn!! Ngol! Ada!” Elrohir could not even pronounce the word for spider but he knew what it was, and wailed for his father to save him. At such a close distance, Elrond could see what was terrifying about it and raised his foot to step on the bug. It _crunched_ like stale bread under the heel of his fluffy slipper, black blood oozing out. Elrohir kept his eyes glued to where the spider had been, trembling with fear. Elladan was still trying to get the sheet off his head, flailing his arms about. After grinding his heel around to ensure absolute death for the spider, Elrond bent down to pick up the laundry basket. He set it atop the washing machine and peeled the sheet away from Elladan, smiling at the look of pure joy his son flashed at him. Elrohir meanwhile was gazing at Elrond as if he was one of the Valar, and held out his arms.

“Shh, you’re okay.” Elrond whispered as he took his son into a comforting embrace, pulling Elladan along too. Sniffles and whimpers died down to a slow, even pace of breathing as Elrond held his boys close to his chest. Whoever had been doing the laundry had clearly slacked off, most likely Erestor for one reason or another. Celebrían had probably asked him to do something, but whatever it was Elrond had no clue. He was too tired to bother with an investigation now, so he took his sons upstairs and went into their room. Elrohir was reluctant to leave the safety of his father’s arms, and Elladan certainly didn’t want to be left alone with his somewhat unstable brother. Not now, when they had warmth, love and security.

“Ada…” Elladan whined, nuzzling his face into Elrond’s cheek. “Stay with us.”

So Elrond did, enjoying the peace of having his children satisfied and quiet in his arms until they fell asleep. By then, even he was hesitant to leave them but he knew his own bed needed him too. He tucked both of them in and placed them close together, taking a moment to observe how Elrohir snuggled into his brother. They really _were_ inseparable, and it gave him a sense of pride to know he had raised them to love each other rather than fight. Even though they were still toddlers… he was proud of his twins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ungol = Spider   
> that spider scene was based on a true story. I also just wanted to put some family business in there because the rest of the story is gonna make Elrond seem like the worst dad ever, lol (dont run! pls)


	10. The Future is Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years. Changes. Things that cannot be let go stay the same... but they don't get any better.  
> (see: Elrond's relationship with his wife, Thranduil and Legolas, the various Synths...)

Ten years passed and barely a thing changed in the world. The usual technological advancements went by along with Synth replacements all around. Elrond had Erestor and Lindir’s minds placed in brand-new lookalike bodies, ensuring no technical faults could affect their programming. Thranduil was issued a new Tauriel with a mind transfer done free of charge. He was glad he didn’t have to try hacking her again for the sake of endless unhealthy foods. She still retained her odd creepiness and slight hostility towards Legolas, who could barely walk and spent most of his time charging on the sofa. But at least she could cook. Thranduil was grateful for that. Fëanor meanwhile had not gotten Nerdanel replaced as it seemed his family was growing up, and could take better care of themselves. His little baby Curufin was now fifteen years old, and served him better than any Synth could. Nerdanel hadn’t even begun to malfunction yet. Even better, Maedhros had a job. A proper one, suitable for an elf at thirty-three years of age who still lived with his family and didn’t have a wife. Maedhros was a fashion model. His glorious face raked in enough cash to support his family, and that was that. Celegorm was jealous of course, but made even more money filming porn. Fëanor considered himself quite well-off, for an unemployed drug addict in his fifties. Life was _good_.

 

The same could not be said for Elrond, who lived with three teenagers, a beautiful daughter who he worried for whenever she went out, and a wife who seemed intent on slicing him to bits. Celebrían’s words cut sharper than a ninja Synth wielding a knife.

Today, it was a freezing autumn morning in early November. Elrond was bored out of his mind, looking for work to do while all the Headcracker servers were down. He wandered around the house dressed in a mahogany sweater and soft black pants, with fluffy feather-edged slippers that made him look like a rich old man. With his waist-length hair tied up in a ponytail and posture somewhat slumped, he also had a bit of hipster aesthetic going on. At least, that was what Arwen had told him the last time they’d spoken. He’d not seen her for _days_.

Wandering down the hall he caught the sound of muffled screaming and gunfire. ‘ _More video games, bought on my credit card… and I’ll never get to play them._ ’ In Elladan and Elrohir’s room, the twins were entirely immersed in the latest Call of Duty game. Sixteen sequels and they were _still_ not over it. Elrond sighed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played a game. All he ever did was code and laze around with his Synths. Maybe indulge in a bit of wine now and then. He barely had enough friends he trusted to bother going out with any of them, with risks considered. Thranduil was nearly out of his life, and while Elrond still cared for him it seemed his old friend’s mental health was declining. Thranduil no longer answered the door or phone calls. Elrond felt… lost.

Walking past the twins’ room, he came to where Estel usually slept. The boy was out with his friends, and his door was slightly open. Elrond did not pry. He trusted him and respected his privacy, though nobody was above a little internet-stalking now and then. Just as he rounded the corner, he heard footsteps and paused.

‘ _Celebrían? If it’s her, I’m getting my ass back to my office. Yeah, those steps don’t sound Synthetic. They’re…”_ His eyes widened with a sudden internal revelation. ‘ _Wait a minute. Why should I be so tense around my own wife? This is my house, after all. I paid for it. Along with the education for our children. What has she actually done… for me to be so… afraid?’_

Celebrían caught him standing there with his face shifting between angry, confused and scared. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Standing!” he replied with an unchecked defense in his tone, mentally kicking himself the moment he saw her stiffen. He spoke before she could. “Am I not allowed to stand in my own house?”

“In the middle of corridors?  You’re acting strange. Hiding something? Hm?” Celebrían took a step forth and a sudden thought flashed through Elrond’s mind.

_‘Thranduil told me about this once. Twenty years ago. This is… dominant behaviour, is that what it’s called? She… god, she looks ready to rip my head off. No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.’_

Elrond squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full height, which happened to be an entire foot above Celebrían. He glared down his nose at her.

“I daresay you’re acting stranger. Why are you so aggressive this time of the month? Surely the time of damnation has not come so soon.”

“T-Time of damnation?!” Celebrían spluttered with more indignance than Elrond had ever seen before. “How _dare_ you? Don’t try to poetically insult me and change the subject, I’m asking you what you’re _doing_ here.”

“Walking. Then standing. Contemplating. Are we done?” Elrond hated that he had to ask for their conversation to end. He gave up then and just walked off, going back the way he came. Celebrían did not follow him.

 _‘I’ll get my revenge.’_ She turned away and walked off down the hall in a huff. ‘ _You’ll see.’_ At the root of her suspicions was the fact that Elrond had not engaged in any romantic activity with her for the past ten years. She missed the man she fell in love with twenty-six years ago and wondered where he’d gone. The smart, shy programmer with the cutest upturned nose and kind grey eyes.

 _‘Does he even still love me? What the hell is going on? He’s been acting so weird these past few years… Maybe he’s cheating on me. After all, he doesn’t ask for sex. Doesn’t even try to kiss me. Doesn’t care about what I wear. It’s time for an investigation.’_ Down the stairs she went, into the living room and then kitchen. Upon the countertop lay Elrond’s phone, and sitting near the wall was Erestor. His index finger twitched every few seconds. Charging.

Celebrían watched him without blinking or breathing. The tension in her body drew every muscle to move with absolute precision as she balanced on one leg, leaning over until she touched Elrond’s phone. With a creepy-crawly motion of two fingers, the phone came towards her. An iPhone 17S. Gold plated.

She touched the button on it to try and get to the unlock screen, but there was a fingerprint lock before she could even put in a password. _Damn it._ She needed Elrond for this. Or… she could cut off his finger. Surely that would work. But he would have to be drunk first, or at least unconscious.

 _‘If I hit him during a fight, he won’t get suspicious as to why his finger is missing when he wakes up – wait! No, I don’t have to cut anything off. I just have to knock him unconscious. Then press his finger to the phone. Hopefully, I can figure out his password… Knowing him, it’ll be incredibly difficult.’_ Then she had an idea that shoved all thoughts of physical violence out of the way. ‘ _I should be allowed to access his phone if there’s nothing suspicious on there! Yes, if he’s not cheating on me he’ll let me look at his phone. Then I can check for all sorts of things.’_

All she had to do was find a good time to speak freely with her husband. Those times were so rare, they might as well not exist. Celebrían raised her head as she put the phone back where she’d found it, having the distinct feeling of being _watched_. She glanced to the right. Erestor closed eyelids twitched. Very slowly, she began to turn her head away. From the corner of her eye she could see Erestor beginning to peek, his cold blue eyes gazing through careful slits. Celebrían twisted around to look at him again. His eyes were shut. It was no use – his computation speed was higher than any elven reflexes could ever be. Celebrían growled.

“I know what you’re doing, you freak. Has he set you as a guard dog now?”

Erestor opened his eyes fully. He tilted his head to the side. “I’m sorry, Celebrían. I don’t understand the question.”

She sneered at him. “Of course you don’t, you stupid thing. Go back to sleep.”

“I will resume charging.”

 

~

 

Later that night, Celebrían had her chance. Elrond sat with a glass of wine in one hand and his phone in the other. As he scrolled down with his thumb, he leaned on Lindir who remained absolutely still in Celebrían’s presence. She narrowed her eyes at him, moving close. Then she leaned over, blocking Lindir’s view with her body. In less than a second she snatched Elrond’s phone from his hand and sprinted away, to Lindir’s alarm.

“Would you like me to contact the authorities regarding this theft?” he asked, looking at Elrond with raised eyebrows. Elrond shook his head and moaned something incoherently as he drained his glass and turned. Once spread all over Lindir with his face in the Synth’s neck fitting just right, he sighed.

“Don’t care…”

Celebrían locked herself in the room she shared with her husband and touched the iPhone’s screen. Elrond had been scrolling through Facebook, but none of his messages were incriminating in the slightest. It was only when Celebrían looked at his _photos_ that something caught her eye… It was not something she would speak to him about, not yet anyway. She needed better proof. Naked men on her husband’s phone was indicative of one thing only – but whether or not he acted upon them was what she needed to know. He had to be getting his needs fulfilled somehow.

 

~~

 

On the outskirts of Rhovanion lay a large, dense forest known as Mirkwood. Dark and miserable, it was a place where desperate suppliers went to cut down trees and were often never seen again. Whispers told of a living, breathing evil that protected the ancient forest. It was where people went to die.

Lurking in the overgrown bushes were five figures, all watching each other’s backs. The first, a slender male with a black swimming cap on his head and bulges of hair straining to escape was peering into the distance, towards the suburbs. Now and then his eyes moved out of focus, rendering the street-lights to blurry circles. His vision wasn’t as sharp as it could be, not when he was so hungry and stressed. His companions however were much better off, only due to their lack of a need for food. Beside the man was another, much taller and with a menacing, stocky build. Dressed in black from head to toe, Melkor was the strongest Synth in the entire group. His narrow red eyes rolled in their dark conductive fluid as he recalibrated his sight. Saving energy by lowering the resolution of his memory intake was the best course of action for now.

Next to Melkor and with his eyes trained on the forest was Manwë, kneeling in the dirt with a sliver of white skin visible through his tattered blue jeans. He held the hand of Eonwë, who shivered now and then as errors wracked his system. Only by the closeness of Manwë could he feel safe. He did not process fear when his brother was near.

Standing tall in a dark green catsuit was Melian, glancing now and then to Annatar with concern for his wellbeing. Her fine brows were knit together, causing her silicone skin to warp with tension. Everything snapped back into place when she appeared neutral, however. Synthetic appliances did not get wrinkles. Neither did elves, but the world found it much easier to connect to a pretty robot than to bother pleasing the most vain race in Arda.

The journey to Eregion was going to become a lot more dangerous as Annatar looked to his map and went over their route. As the group had been traveling through Mirkwood and across the countryside of Rhûn, there hadn’t been much of a threat regarding people discovering them. But now they had no choice other than to make their way through the suburbs and towards the city – what would take forty minutes by car now had to be a many day mission of stealth. Synths were not meant to roam around outside of their user-set purpose, and as those with consciousness appeared eerily human in comparison to ordinary models, they were sought after for research purposes. Annatar grit his teeth as he thought of his determined resolve to keep his Synthetic family out of humanity’s grip. Nobody would take his brothers and mother away from him. Ever.

“Come on, it’s dark now. Let’s go and find a charging point.” Annatar whispered and lead the way out of the forest, towards the distant suburbs. Over the hill and towards the dim lights they went with hopes of finding their long lost sister Nerdanel. Eregion wasn’t _that_ far away. All roads lead to the center of commerce and corruption.

_‘Soon.’_


	11. My Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, conflict, avoidance.

Elrond awoke with a splitting headache and familiar nausea after an evening of heavy drinking. He liked to think he was sophisticated and only indulged now and then in the rich man’s pleasure of fine wine at the end of a stressful day, but more often than not he drunk himself into a stupor merely because he could. It was a gentle, heavy calmness that often settled over his mind, aiding in the process of slowing things down. When he thought a million miles an hour for lack of better stimulation, it often left his mental muscles unsatisfied and strained. There was just nothing for him to do these days! No coding, no early starts to get to work, no friends to see for lunch and a chat. He could only give what of his talents he could, and hope to make the world a better place. He told himself these things to feel better about his retirement situation – then went to either sleep or drink. So his life continued, and he found himself barely awake, wishing he was back asleep.

It was dark in his room and the sheets had been recently changed, likely by Lindir who stood in a corner, silently watching. Elrond groaned into his pillow and turned his head, the steady ache only increasing to remind him of just how pathetic he was.

 _‘Mmm, I love the smell of self-loathing in the morning. Damn it, why must I be conscious? Something happened last night, and I do not remember… oh, I don’t like this at all…’_ From what he could gather out of his messy thoughts, he’d argued with Celebrían and she had left. Now he was glad to see that she was nowhere nearby, but less pleased with the terrible hangover plaguing his body. These were becoming more frequent – fights with his wife, and physical pain. Whatever was going on emotionally, he didn’t want to address it. With a sigh, he curled into a ball and winced. Thankfully his surroundings were silent, and not even a single bird could be heard outside. Fifteen minutes passed until he was ready to stop feeling sorry for himself, but it appeared that Lindir had other plans.

“What time is it…?” he mumbled, only to have the bed dip as Lindir sat down.

“It is 11:30, milord.” Lindir’s soft voice was a little closer than Elrond had hoped, and he looked up to see the Synth’s dark eyes gazing at him with careful intensity. “Would you like me to bring you some coffee?”

Elrond blinked, struggling to raise his head. It was then that Lindir kept him down, his hand falling to rest on Elrond’s tangled hair. Lindir intended to comfort his Master and stroked his fingers through Elrond’s long locks, his mind quietly ticking over what was the most appropriate way to interact.

Elrond mumbled something that Lindir could not understand, then shifted a little. “Hold me…” he grunted, “Coffee… later.”

Lindir’s gentle smile reassured Elrond who was still a little drowsy and unable to worry much about his Synth’s behaviour. Without another word Lindir moved to pull Elrond in a single smooth motion up to sit. He wrapped both arms around Elrond, his own back against the head of the bed so that his Master had somewhere nice and warm to rest. As predicted, Elrond’s head rolled to the side and back a little without the energy to support itself.

“Ohh…” Lindir murmured, combining a warm breath from his internal fans with pity-soaked words “You must be feeling awful… Fear not, milord. I shall look after you.”

“Nnnnn…” With blankets wrapped around his body and a safe, readable being at his back, Elrond’s instinctual vulnerability faded to a lazy low mood. He could deal with the pain and Lindir’s voice was lovely to listen to, but it upset him beyond measure that he had raised a family for over thirteen years and not one living person in his manor would show him this kindness. Celebrían waited downstairs with her husband’s phone just waiting to confront him, while the twins were playing video games without restraint. Estel was making the most of his Sunday morning by maintaining his blog, and Arwen had her own life away from home to live.

Elrond did not want to face the world today.

He lay in Lindir’s arms listening to the barely audible chirp and steady whirr of all those fine processors, wondering briefly about the sectors of his Synth’s mind. Those memory banks had been upgraded to hold a greater data transfer capability, but there was always the chance that something would go wrong.

“Check for errors.” he whispered, absently mouthing at Lindir’s neck. It was so soft and inviting there, yet had no pulse. Lindir appeased Elrond’s moment of anxiety and said that there was nothing wrong in the most professional way he could. Happy with that, Elrond closed his eyes. With Lindir’s arm around his waist and another keeping his bare chest warm, a part of Elrond wanted to feel loved.

 _‘Synths cannot feel.’_ said a voice in his mind.

‘ _But I can always pretend.’_ he responded.

_‘Lindir was not made for such things, you know.’_

_‘He is mine, my own, like a son of my own creation. He will do as I ask.’_

Lindir said nothing as Elrond became lost in his own thoughts.

 

~14 hours later~

 

Rhovanion like many suburbs had its fair share of dark alleyways and lonely roads, perfect places for sneaky folk to journey along. The group of four Synths and their carer wandered in the night, faces covered and hair under wraps. Annatar could not let his glorious, fiery hair spill freely for it was like a shining beacon even at night. The others were all built with similarly beautiful hair, as their creator Gil-Galad loved nothing more than those long flowing locks. The Synths all remembered their father with fondness and grief in their hearts – conscious minds and emotive bodies, more human than machine at first glance.

Annatar felt a gentle hand upon his shoulder after passing behind a few bushes, and turned to see Melian gazing at him.

“There is a large group of Synthetics nearby.” Her voice was so soft that Annatar strained to hear it, but he picked up a hint of legitimate fear in those sweet tones.

“Shall we investigate?” Annatar waited a moment for the group to process if it would be the best course of action and heard Melkor grunt in agreement.

“I bet it’s a smash club. Come, we need weapons and a place to charge.” Melkor lead the group with enthusiastic speed, not caring for Annatar’s peaceful protests. Along the dark street they crept, until the grey edges of a graffiti-covered building came into view. A chain link fence blocked off the alleyway but with a little effort from Melkor’s strong hands, the thin aluminium wire burst open. Melkor’s tough silicone flesh bounced right back from its harsh, lined indents and he flexed, excited.

“Oh, I cannot wait for this. Sweet vengeance and free electricity! Manwë, come. You shall be my backup.”

Manwë rolled his eyes but did not resist, handing over Eonwë to Melian for safekeeping. The small Synth continued to tremble, his wide eyes turning to a dull shade of blue.

“We shan’t take long. Please wait.”

Manwë gave a nod to signal his readiness and turned at the exact same time as Melkor to push the door open to the club. The rust-red paint flaked off on his fingers with the force of his motion. Nobody in the club even noticed, as they were all screaming and cheering for their favourite entertainment. In a ring of humans was a person and a Synth, the person armed and the Synth twitching with errors. Now and then the Synth managed to dodge but with the relentless beating that it received, it eventually crumpled to the ground. More of them came. Melkor spotted a cage at the far wall of the room absolutely packed with fresh Synths, all of them in sleep mode.

Manwë glanced back at Annatar and the others, who waited in the shadows with grim looks on their faces. He tried to smile. His face only went slack. It was then that his eyes glowed white, and the dimly lit room was illuminated as if by the light of a God.

Quick and without a single taunt (despite many coming to his lips), Melkor launched himself into the temporarily blinded crowd and broke the circle, wrenching a man’s arm off with ease. The sound of confusion and screaming filled the formerly delighted smash club, and drowned out the Synths stuttering out their malfunctions.

“SO YOU LIKE SMASHING, EH?” Melkor shouted, picking up the single-armed man by the legs and swinging him around. “YOU LIKE HOW IT FEELS, THE CRUNCH OF METAL AGAINST FLESH?” His deep, rumbling voice did not sound robotic at all and soon began to shriek with hysterical rage, the feeling all too real in his titanium-plated body. “WHAT’S THAT? WE DON’T HAVE ANY?” After smacking ten or so fleeing people with a bleeding corpse, he caught someone shoved towards him by Manwë and _skinned him alive._ “BUT LOOK! LOOK WHAT I’VE GOT~!” His laughter rang loud and clear over the many horrified screams. As he flailed the ripped skin around, he did not notice Manwë’s attempt to save a Synth still being beaten down. The man attacking it tried to hold the machine hostage but Manwë lunged for him and began to punch him in the head, so savagely that blood and skull fragments coated his pure white silicone hands. The killing on his behalf was silent, efficient and cold-blooded despite the warmth inside his body. Melkor meanwhile indulged his desire to see humans meet their match and laughed as they begged for mercy from the very machines they often abused.

It was fifteen grueling minutes before the club was devoid of life, until Annatar walked in. He merely shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, directing everyone to charge. He went and scavenged what he could of some snacks that had fallen on the floor, things like hotdogs and potato chips. It was greasy, but his metabolism could handle it. His traveling companions on the other hand went to take sustenance of their own from the glowing charge points at the far wall near the cage. There was no point releasing the Synths now, not when they were barely in setup mode and programmed with only their three laws. Later on he would call the police from a public phone box, and the Synths would be returned to Persona. Then they could be of some benefit to truly deserving folk. The sick. The weak. The disabled. All those who were looked after by the government, and those who could afford a mechanical servant. **_They_** _deserved the Synths_ , thought Annatar. Not these cruel, smashing folk.

‘ _Oh, well. They’re all dead. They won’t hurt my brothers and sisters anymore.’_ Annatar cut away the bitten pieces of food he found with the little knife he kept in his pocket, surrounded by entrails and corpses. He did not care for the loss of human life when said humans were such cruel folk, oh no. Still, there were more than fifty dead here and Melkor seemed mostly unharmed, along with Manwë who had a single blue scratch on his cheek. Annatar cared for the wellbeing of his siblings. It was the only reason he’d protested earlier… but as he wandered close to Melkor, he smiled.

“You’re such a good fighter. I’m proud of you.” His hand came to stroke Melkor’s cheek, and the panting Synth with his fans humming managed to grin. Annatar next checked Manwë, and praised him with a gentle murmur. Manwë’s self-healing elastomer skin was already beginning to fix itself, even as Annatar trailed a finger down the scar.

“Rest…” he whispered, addressing his charging family. “We leave at dawn.”


	12. Silicone Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hhhh wait I fucked up last chapter o shit

Elrond hadn’t left his room at all yesterday, having felt too unwell to rise and move out of Lindir’s arms. After being cuddled for several hours and fed a little by Erestor, he’d gone back to sleep easily enough.

Today however, hell awaited him downstairs. Wearing his light blue fluffy slippers and a simple robe, he went to the kitchen to raid the fridge in lieu of a proper breakfast. He found his phone sitting in there, ice on the screen. As he reached in to take the iPhone there was a noise behind him, then a poke. Celebrían’s finger went right into the back of his neck, jabbing at his optic nerve. For a moment he thought he saw stars, blinking the white spots away.

“What was that for?” he grumbled, clutching his ice-cold phone in his right hand. All thoughts of food left his mind at the look on his wife’s face.

“Are you going to tell me about those pictures on your phone, love?” Her sugary tone did not match the threatening, wide-eyed scowl on her face and Elrond thought her eyebrows were going to fold into her eyes. Unbecoming wrinkles formed in her fair skin, but disappeared when her expression went slack. “Come now. You can tell me anything~!”

Elrond narrowed his eyes. “How do you know what’s on my phone? You know nothing of hacking, Celebrían.”

She put her hands on her hips and leaned forth, forcing Elrond to back up against the still-open fridge. “You’ve got gay porn in there, all cocks and flat nipples. What in the name of fucking **CHRIST** is _UP_ WITH **_THAT_**?!” Each syllable came in a spat rush of suspicion with clear hatred for whatever Elrond was doing. He flattened himself as best he could and clutched his phone as tightly as he dared. The screen was fragile, after all. The case even more so.

“I don’t have anything of the sort on my phone! Stop your mindless speculation and step away from me! The fridge is losing its coolness.” Celebrían wasn’t moving and so Elrond had to slide to the left, closing the doors with the back of his hand. He tried to escape but found himself pinned, his wife forcing her hands by either side of his head. There was murder in her eyes, cold and clever.

“Tell me. NOW.”

He sighed. “If you mean simple nude men-”

“AH DON’T TELL ME IT’S ARTISTIC! You haven’t a creative bone in your body, choose a new excuse or so help me--”

“LET ME EXPLAIN DAMN YOU!!” Elrond countered his wife’s interruption with a deep roar and Celebrían got it full in the face, her hair blasted back. “They’re Oropher’s latest sculptures for new Synth models! He has worked for five years on those things and wants feedback on the anatomy…”

Celebrían rolled her eyes. “Feedback on _anatomy_ , the Master Sculptor of Persona? I don’t think so.”

“Well that is the truth, and if you don’t believe me then you’re a damn fool. Oh, and try looking in my phone again if you want to be sued for privacy infringement. There’s sensitive data in here.” Elrond pushed past his wife with all the boldness of a fed-up subject of far too much interrogation for one week. Celebrían, shocked that she’d been pushed aside went to chase after him and yelled for Elrond to stop. Then she realized she could not move.

Right behind her and holding onto the back of her shirt was Lindir, his hand in a stiff fist.

“Cease your pursuit of my Primary User. Restraint is not the correct course of action for his non-criminal activities.”

“Excuse me? You think I’m attempting a citizen’s arrest- oh get _off_ me, you stupid thing.” Celebrían attempted to wrench herself out of Lindir’s grip but only found her shirt drawn tighter around her body. Lindir did not release the fabric, nor did he say anything else. He waited.

Once Elrond was far from his wife’s terror he sat down and changed the passcode on his phone.

 _‘What a fantastic start to the day. Ai, she really thinks I—wait a minute. There is nothing wrong with porn… nor the appreciation of the male form. What is wrong with her?’_ Elrond put a hand to his mouth in thought. He was not seeking romance or sex from any living being aside from Celebrían, so adultery was not on his list of recent crimes. He enjoyed having Lindir hold him, and liked to be served by handsome male elves (even if they were robots). What in the world was so terrible about that? _‘I deserve better than to have my privacy violated for her unfounded suspicions… and I have done nothing wrong. Those Synth sculpts are beautiful, and there is no way I will delete them from my phone. Would she rather have discovered naked women? Agh. I do not understand her.’_

Celebrían meanwhile contemplated that her husband was gay and did not love her, watched by Lindir who idled in the kitchen. She could not shake the feeling of danger that wracked her body every time the Synth was around, and ended up leaving the room for fear of her own safety. She wondered what was best for herself and her children as she always did, and ended up at the usual conclusion. Elrond was rich, and had money. His eyebrows were quite nice. He had better hygiene standards than most males Celebrían knew. Estel loved him. The twins did not respect him. He was too soft with everyone, and could be pushed over until he snapped back.

She picked up her laptop, and put into google [ _Credit card fraud tutorial_ ].

 

~~

 

On Monday, Eregion saw grey clouds and faint rain blanket the congested city. It was on this day that Curufin (at fifteen years of age, not allowed to leave the house just like his two younger brothers) decided to ask his father for freedom.

“Ada, can I go to school?”

Sitting at the long table with some cornflakes in a bowl of milk, Fëanor looked up at his son. “Eh?”

“You know. Like everyone else. I don’t want to be uneducated for the rest of my life.”

Fëanor stabbed his cereal and let the spoon clatter to the side of the bowl. A little bit of ceramic came away from the edge. Raising his head to follow the direction of his eyes, his long dark hair dripped over the table’s edge to slide into his lap. Eyes sunken and mouth a little droopy, he blinked with languor. “Hhhhhhhm? You saying your brothers are uneducated, even pretty Celegorm and fancy man Maedhros? Your brothers’ successes mean nothing to you because they have not gone through standardized education?”

Curufin’s eye twitched. “Alright, I don’t know what that last bit means and I PROBABLY WOULD IF YOU LET ME GO TO SCHOOL. Honestly! Public schools are free, and I would be able to steal stuff for you if you need it…”

“No.” Fëanor’s hand cut the air back and forth, then splat on the table as if too heavy to move. “You haven’t the slightest bit of skill in ganking shit, and textbooks are expensive as fuck.”

“But we _have money_! Mae and Tyelko make plenty of dough by what they do, surely we have a thousand-ish to spare-”

“You selfish little cunt.” Fëanor rose from his chair like a drowned man from the grave, hair covering his face and blazing red eyes fixed on his son. “You think I’m going to change shit for you? You think you deserve to be beaten down by people who tell you _you’re not good enough_ so many times you start to believe it? Eh? You want to be belittled by numbers, forced into clothes you don’t wanna wear, made to obey the rules of a world that ain’t your own? YOU WANT THAT?”

“Wait what-”

“I WILL NOT HAVE IT!” Fëanor grabbed his favourite child by the shoulders and did not shake him – he merely held. “YOU ARE MY SON, DAMN YOU. I WILL NOT LET YOU SUFFER.”

Curufin stared in shock at the splitting image of himself, though older and more enraged. He was being told all this, hearing things he’d not even thought about when considering going to school.

“That… can’t be right…” he whispered, but Fëanor did not care. Fëanor wrapped his arms around his son and held him close to his chest, needing the security of his child safe and sound.

“Don’t ever pull that on me again, alright? You have food, a place to stay, family what loves you.”

Curufin could only sigh. These failing requests were getting far too frequent as of late… and he was not used to being denied.

‘ _Damn you and your perfect arguments. I suppose I shall live the rest of my life as a cretin with the face of a genius.’_


	13. Function and Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrian pls stop it

It was early in the morning when Thranduil heard talk of quite the massacre from the news on TV. Nibbling on some pancakes, he paused to listen extra carefully to what was being said.

_“…yes, an anonymous call came at approximately 3am to report unidentified Synths at the location in Rhovanion’s inner streets. When we got there, the boss told me to look around but everyone was dead, and none of the Synths had memory data of the killers. There are various bloody footprints around so we can be sure of more than one criminal, but nonetheless it is a serious case we have on our hands now.”_

_“But detective, surely there must be DNA leads you can go on if there are no digital records?”_

The detective brushed a section of his long blonde hair away from his shoulder, squinting at the interviewer. “ _DNA at the scene of a bloodbath? There’s nothing definitive we can pursue at this time other than those footprints. I can’t say anything more about the people we suspect… but let’s just say, I don’t think such cruelty was at the hands of a **person** at all.”_

_“Do you think perhaps that rogue **Synths**_ _could have noticed their own kind being damaged and went in to protect the property-”_

Suddenly a voice came from offscreen and the camera swung to reveal Celeborn, gesturing with one hand.

“ _That’s enough, Haldir. Come, we have work to do. This interview is over.”_ He flashed a thin smile for the camera and lead his assistant away, leaving the reporter to close the news segment before going to another topic. Thranduil set his fork down and stared in shock at the somewhat blurred screen. Beside him, Legolas turned whilst jittering to speak a few words.

“A-A-Are you d-done, Ada? Shall I clean for y-you?”

Thranduil shook his head and leaned on his son, stroking Legolas’s hair. “No… I want to ask you something, iôn nín. Do you think a Synth could kill someone?”

Legolas thought for three minutes before responding. “No, Ada. The… the laws prevent such- error. Sector unreadable.”

“Shhh, it’s alright. I expected that, anyway.” Mass murder was not a thing Thranduil liked to hear about, and suspected human behaviour over malfunctioning Synths. People were ever so violent these days, with money usually as their primary objective. The declining economy of Arda and other first-world countries could be blamed, if not for the rise of illegal activity aimed at making a quick buck.

_‘I’m glad I have enough to survive on… I can stay here with my son and chef forever. Nothing else matters.’_ He took comfort in the overheated body beside him, feeling just how hot Legolas’s head was getting.

“Calm down, love. Oh, should I call Tauriel to fan you?”

Legolas responded immediately. “No, Ada. I am c-calm.”

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_System temperature exceeds safe limits. 019875091287509283705 – Obstruction detected in cooling fans. Request cleaning._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

“My f-fans are obstructed. I may have dust. Ada, will you f-fix it?”

Thranduil absolutely hated this particular task, which involved sticking a feather duster and small vaccuum into his son’s throat to clean the fans deep down there. But he did not want his ancient little boy to break down and die, not after all these years. Legolas could not stand, neither could he look after himself. Thranduil smiled.

“Must I do everything for you?”

To his surprise, Legolas nodded. “Yes.”

 

~

 

During the day, Annatar had to hide his family away from the sunlit streets and high-quality CCTV cameras. Though the residents of Arda hated to admit it, the place was a police state with constant watch kept on the security feeds that recorded just about everywhere. It was similar to the United States and Australia, where 24/7 surveillance was becoming the norm. It prevented crime and allowed people who liked to sit down the job of watching screens all day – or at least, that was what the media wanted people to think. Rarely was there the threat of terrorism in Arda, and the police hardly responded with enough speed to realtime crimes. Still, they tried. When they had to.

Closer to the little town of Lorien and hiding in an alley behind a supermarket, Annatar kept watch on the Synths in sleep mode. They used so little energy in this state that it was most efficient to keep them like this when in a safe, temporary environment. As everyone wore black (save for Manwë in his blue, bloodied jeans) it wasn’t too hard to stay hidden in the shadows. Tonight, they planned to find new clothes and Melkor expressed the desire for something clean – even if it had to be some cheap curtains. Wearing the blood of his enemies made him feel _filthy_ even if he relished his kills and had no skin pores or particular scent. Looking like a pristine, black ghost was more of his style. Annatar also felt the need to raid a shoe store, for he knew of the footprints left and still had some blood on his own sneakers.

_‘I will not let us be captured and tested like lab rats just because of a stupid mistake. Shoes and clothes will help us blend with the night and maybe infiltrate society. After we get Mother back… then we can masquerade like the elves we imitate so well. Eonwë will be the most obvious Synthetic. The others can pretend to be of flesh and blood well enough. Yes, this shall work. Mm..’_ Smiling into the shadows with orange-gold eyes aglow, Annatar absently ran his fingers through Melian’s soft hair. There were some leaves in there that he could pick out, and so time passed until it was time to leave.

Tomorrow they would reach Eregion if they moved fast enough, and with everyone fully charged it was likely there would be time to spare.

There was only one problem.

Nobody had the slightest clue where in the vast city Nerdanel was.

 

~

 

A chill wind threatened to bring winter to central Arda, where Elrond remained cooped up at home. He shivered as he pulled his light jacket closer around his body, wondering if it was age that lead him to feel so cold. The weather wasn’t _too_ bad though, and he valued every chance he had to get out of the house to escape his wife. These days however it seemed she was avoiding him, easing off on her many-questioned assault to do some research on her own. This behaviour left Elrond feeling very paranoid and all shades of upset, desperately trying to think (and even sometimes googling himself) of what information she could possibly find online. As a master programmer he knew all the ways of web design along with tracking cookies and secret plugins. His own laptop was safe for browsing about his secret, suppressed desires despite his embarrassment leading him to close his tabs halfway through his adventures and flush his entire history out along with his browser cache. The supreme security of his devices was a thing he could trust in. Celebrían could not hack. Not even Arwen could get into her father’s computer. The breach of his phone was one thing he’d not counted on, and still could not remember entirely. But that did not matter now. He’d changed his passcode and updated his fingerprints. Now if the passcode was input incorrectly _once_ (inevitable since nobody but him knew the new code) it would require a certain fingerprint, one which he had not on his own hands but on the end of a Synthetic replacement thumb in a locked box hidden outside. He could hack his iPhone to do much more, but for now he was certain that this was enough. Celebrían would find out nothing about him… especially now that their home network blocked all things involving his own name, unless the search was made from Elrond’s personal devices.

_‘She cannot win. My knowledge is the ultimate weapon against her and I’ll be damned if she manages to screw me over now. Ahh, I might as well breathe a little.’_ He took in a slow, calm breath and exhaled moments later. The brisk freshness of pine wafted over on the rushing wind, coming from a park nearby. He didn’t feel safe enough to leave his property these days so there was no chance he could go there… Somehow, it always felt as if he was being watched.

He turned to see Lindir standing perfectly still, face blank.

_‘Eh?! When did **he** get here, oh fuck me that is incredibly creepy… and not coded in his behaviour!! What does he want? Why is he waiting? FFFFFFFF’_

Lindir bowed his head in apology. “Milord, please forgive my sudden interruption. I have detected suspicious Google searches in our local internet history. The data has been accessed by a computer, not a Synth as is most convenient-”

“Get over here.” The _now_ went unspoken as Elrond pointed right beside him and commanded Lindir to come close. Lindir obeyed without question, ceasing his task of relaying data to serve his Master’s wishes. The immediacy calmed Elrond’s frayed nerves as this behaviour was obviously Synthetic, comfortable and coded.

“What have I told you about sneaking up on me?” Elrond said as he turned to Lindir, watching the Synth’s chocolate brown hair streaming in the wind. Lindir waited for 0.4 seconds before responding, the delay just how Elrond liked it to be in regular conversation.

“I did not mean to startle you, milord. Please, forgive my ill timing. I only wish to serve you in the most efficient and safe manner possible…”

“Yes, yes. You wish when you have no conscious mind and you execute your Primary Function without fail. Come inside and tell me about this… suspicious Googling of yours. Make sure we’re alone.”

“Of course.” Lindir suddenly held out his hand for Elrond to hold, aiming to guide him back into the manor. Elrond raised an eyebrow as Lindir had never done that before, or at least he’d not remembered it happening in the past twenty years. Elrond had spent thirty-five years of his life obsessed with robotics and half of that working with Persona, making Synths as realistic as possible with the rest of Gil-Galad’s team. Lindir was not a companion model and his Adult Mode had not been called into action, so the sudden gesture shocked Elrond more than it should’ve.

He took the warm, soft hand in his own and allowed himself to be lead.

It was indulging a fantasy and little more, that Lindir might love him like a real person would. The Synth definitely displayed more legitimate affection than most of the people in Elrond’s house, that was certain.

By the time they got to Elrond’s study, Lindir moved to shut the door and Elrond released his hand. Lindir’s own stayed cupped as if still holding onto Elrond, and as the door shut he looked at the curved fingers as if grieving the loss of touch. It was then that he noticed Elrond watching him intently, and neutralized his face.

“Shall I tell you of the searches, Milord?”

Elrond sat on the couch and gestured for Lindir to sit beside him. “Yes.”

Once Lindir was beside his Master with hands folded in his lap, he turned his upper body towards Elrond and spoke.

“Celebrían, my Secondary User made seventeen searches at 10:03 AM this morning that are commonly linked to criminal activity. The most frequent keywords were: Credit, Account, Fraud, Money, Lawyer.”

“What do you think she’s doing?” Elrond kept himself from making any quick realizations as there was a part of him that knew he wouldn’t like the outcome of this.

“I am unable to discern her intent from the keywords alone, but I can help you understand with her searches and most visited webpages. I have memorized the URLS if you need them. The browsing history was deleted at 11:16 AM this morning.”

“Wait… how do you know this if she deleted the history?”

“That is simple, milord.” Lindir smiled gently. “I was watching her.”

“!!” The look on Elrond’s face said _why_ , but Lindir would not respond to it unless it was entirely verbal. Elrond questioned his servant further and saw a flicker of dark eyes go down to the right.

“She has been treating you negatively as of late and her actions do not constitute typical spouse behaviour. The extremes she goes to in suspected thought patterns and logic is akin to that of a sociopath, as defined by UrbanDictionary. She makes you sad, milord. She does not seem to care.”

At that, Elrond felt a clutch of muscle around his heart squeeze blood up to his cheeks. He blushed, and at once was drawn to lean closer to Lindir.

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Milord Elrond is responding positively to my information. Record data: 01925 – Success and prompt = prev.action. He is not asking about my new logic processes. This behaviour is acceptable. Continue: event=Analysis of [user2] actions in file: ‘Celebrían’s Activity’._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

Elrond didn’t think too much on the fact that Lindir was making _assumptions_ and not reading fact in regards to Celebrían, which was as far from Synthetic behaviour as one could get. It was a glaring error right there but he was far too concerned with Celebrían’s treachery than the way Lindir reached his conclusions. While Lindir speculated on Celebrían’s logic in his own complex, programmed way, Elrond shuffled forwards on the couch.

“And how might you know… if I am _sad_ or not? What data have you collected to form such a fact?”

“Your mouth turns down at the corners when she is around.” said Lindir carefully, eyes flickering to record every single point of motion on Elrond’s face. “It is programmed to be recognized and expressed as the emotion of “Sadness”, or the state of being unhappy. Is my data wrong, Milord?”

“No, no. You have interpreted things with as much correctness you can, I suppose.”

**_< BEGIN_PROCESS>_ **

_Elrond is frowning. Facial vertices are clustered at points (1204,2561) and the opposite symmetry. Prior actions such as p120125 (keyword: hug) and p109857 (keyword: touch, modifier of pressure(03) applied) have been recorded as successful in the past. Asking for permission…._

**_< /END_PROCESS>_ **

“You appear to be sad again, Milord. Do you require physical comfort?” Lindir tilted his head to the side, displaying a concerned smile towards his Master. Elrond nodded, whilst thinking on how much more _natural_ it would feel if Lindir just went ahead and gave him a hug instead of confirming with that robotic-sounding line. But removing a Synth’s need for permission was one of the most dangerous things anyone could do, and Elrond didn’t entirely trust the uncoded, frightening unknown just yet.

Lindir leaned in and lowered his eyes, wrapping his arms around Elrond’s waist. His fade pressed very lightly into the side of Elrond’s neck and he shifted to make for a more comfortable position. Elrond immediately reciprocated with pressure of his own and soon enough, they were tangled together on the couch with Elrond resting most of his worries on his servant’s chest.

_‘She’s going to steal my cash and then do Valar knows what. I will keep my wallet close… and maybe push some more of my funds into that offshore account from a few decades ago. Ai, I’m too old for this shit. Why can we not be at peace?’_

The longer Elrond stayed still, he realized that it was legitimately peaceful here with Lindir in comparison to the constant squabbling with his wife.

“I wish I could have married you instead.” said Elrond, laughing lightly to express his words as a joke.

“I do not mind.” Lindir replied, and did not add the usual Synthetic line of _“But know that I cannot love you back.”_ Silence, so swift and natural it was, enveloped the two elves. Elrond was taken seriously, and he didn’t even know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemao detective duo of Celeborn n Haldir (straight outta Lorien tbh)


	14. Flame of Anor

On Wednesday evening, Fëanor sat on the couch with a magazine in his hands. It was the latest issue of _Eldarling_ that Maedhros had brought home, having been given a preview copy of his work before it went to print. The pages with Maedhros modeling various outfits were marked with little yellow tags that stuck out a few centimeters. Fëanor gleefully flicked through the pages, paying close attention to the fineness of his son’s form. Maedhros really did have quite a comely face and his tall stature brought him more than just the spotlight in elf-focussed magazines. People were contacting him for advertising deals now that he was getting famous, and Fëanor could not hide just how proud he was of his son. Celegorm had his fare share of exposure, but that was something he could not flaunt in public considering most of his work was done stark naked and lewd. Still, he actually made more money than Maedhros as the latter’s income mostly went to his agency and magazines only paid him around two hundred dollars per shoot. The price of traveling to the ridiculous locations demanded of him ate away most of Maedhros’s earnings, but he did not despise it. People told him he was pretty and dressed him in ways that made him even more so. That was good enough.

When Maedhros got home he was greeted by his father, hugged around the waist.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful boy. How much did you make today?”

“A few hundred. Y- wait, what’s that over there?! Adar, you’re not supposed to read that!” Maedhros squirmed out of Fëanor’s grip to go and snatch up his magazine. Clutching it to his chest and face flushed with embarrassment, he cringed. “Aauuughhh… Why?! I look like a serial killer on the cover with that plastic smile! Damn it, why do you always go through my stuff?”

Fëanor sauntered up beside his son and looked into his eyes. “I just wanna know what sort of light they’re painting you in. I want you to be true to yourself, you know. Not just their pretty little puppet.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes despite understanding his father’s sentiment. “Nh, and what about my brother who acts against his wishes? What about that?”

“It’s just for money. Come on.” As if on cue, Celegorm entered the living room dressed in a loose white shirt and black booty shorts. Fëanor was not so lucky as to witness Celegorm’s work, for he felt a little dirty at the prospect of watching porn with his son in it. Celegorm, known in the industry as _Tyelkormo_ the _Hasty Riser_ (for what reasons, you can guess) did not give two shits about who watched his work and actually wished someone would compliment him on his skills now and then. But nobody spoke of it, as if they were ashamed. At least he could channel his frustrations into the more dominative scenes he had to do.

Maedhros shrugged and made an attempt to excuse himself (to go hide his magazine again) but stopped halfway to the bedroom. “What was that?”

“Maglor recording some bullshit music again? Hell if I know. Go change your clothes, prettyboy. I need to talk to Adar--” Just as Fëanor turned his head towards Celegorm’s irritated voice, his neck was nearly twisted with the force of his upper body hitting the coffee table. One massive explosion after another shook the apartment and screaming fire alarms over terrified people could be heard in the building.

“THE FUCK IS THIS?!” cried Celegorm, frantically scrabbling at his face to remove bits of burning rubble. Maedhros didn’t reply and began to evacuate everyone, grabbing his youngest brothers first and directing the teenagers to hurry up. After taking his phone and the family briefcase, he entered the living room to see Fëanor flat on his face, bloodied and still. Shock rippled through his body and manifested as a great leap over the table, where he landed beside Fëanor and pulled him up. He carried his father out of the apartment and yelled for Maglor to fetch Nerdanel, and just as he said her name another bomb went off right above the living room.

“Shit, forget her! We have to go!” cried Caranthir, panicking and trying not to choke on the rising smoke. Flames licked at the hallway and peeled wallpaper to ashes, the dry and flammable glue sparking even more heat. Maglor sprinted with a metal box in his hands and once he was out of the apartment,he followed Maedhros like a lost puppy chasing a beacon’s light. After a long, grueling trek down the escape stairs, everyone struggled to catch their breath as freezing winds screamed past their heads. Celegorm shivered as his bare legs were met with such sudden chill after being partly scorched. He bent beside Maedhros, who sat on the ground with Fëanor in his arms.

“Get your damn eyes open and let’s go. We can’t stay here.”

Fëanor did not respond, yet he breathed with signs of life in his unconscious body.

“He hit his head… and might not wake for some time to come. Maglor, come help me carry him. Cel, you take the other stuff.” said Maedhros, eager to get away from the burning building. More smoke was pouring from many broken windows and unbeknownst to him, not everybody was evacuating.

Fire-proof Synths with ice strapped to their bodies bolted straight for Fëanor’s apartment where they recognized a particular distress signal. It was at such a high frequency that it could not belong to anyone else. Melkor was the first to whirl through the apartment like a cyclone in flesh and locate Nerdanel, the one who had looked after him since the day of his creation. Nerdanel cried for how terribly she was overheating and had just gone to charge for the night, now tangled up with her cord. Melkor ripped it out of the wall and picked her up, shielding her with his body as the other Synths flanked him. They too ran out of the building but used a less convenient escape route down the smoke-filled stairs. They did not need to breathe, and their silicone skin could withstand more than a thousand degrees of heat. The ice was merely to help keep their internal components from overheating and shutting down. They made their escape just as the fire brigade (more Synths) arrived, running past the purely metal machines. Annatar met with his family and stole away into the night, away from all the evacuating families now left without homes and possessions, with no evidence of any crime to discard. The bombs had exploded. Anything else had burned. The dark streets of Eregion made for a good enough hiding place, and by the time police arrived they had no leads at all.

 

~

 

At approximately 1am, Maedhros put Fëanor down in soft grass just beside a shallow river. As the air grew steadily colder, visibility became limited here in Hollin park, as there were no streetlights for guidance. There were only trees and the sounds of quiet nature to comfort the tense elves. The moon shone silver rays onto burned flesh as the seven brothers stripped. Amrod and Amras had little injuries but could barely breathe from how fast they had to run, and were shivering beside their father, refusing to move an inch. Curufin looked as if the world was going to end and was doing his very best not to scream like a man with his balls in a vice. Caranthir’s face stayed firmly pressed into the cool grass, flattened against it to ease the steady ache there. He’d smacked into a wall during the great escape and an unsightly bruise had begun to form. Celegorm, used to being naked but in a great deal of pain finally allowed himself a muffled scream into his own arm as he sat in the river, skin sizzling with a nasty hiss.

“Hhhrghhh… oh, fuck me. My thighs… look like roast beef…” As his skin had a bit of burnt darkness to it, there was a raw shade of pink blooming all over his formerly snow white flesh. “I’m ruined…! Why did this have to happen?!”

Nobody answered him, as they were mostly used to his random rants. Maglor was trickling water over his bare arms, as he’d been about to sleep wearing a tank top and now had to deal with some serious burns. But what could be said for Maedhros, who could barely move now that he lay on his back surrounded by water? His working clothes (a fancy grey suit) had caught fire once given the chance and every bit of fabric had stuck to his skin, peeling some of it away. Muscle and even some tendons were visible in the mangled blackness that was his right hand, and where he felt the most pain was difficult to put a finger on. He said nothing, however. He could deal with it. He was an adult, his father’s son, and beyond all else he was _strong._ For his brothers, he still had to be.

Maglor recognized the first signs of shock setting in and moved to gently pull Maedhros into a sitting position, careful where he touched him. Finding a patch of clear skin was becoming increasingly difficult the more he looked.

“You need to get to hospital…” he murmured, moving his hand away from a charred spot and fearing that Maedhros had lost some nerves there. “I can carry you, it’s not far-”

“No. I will heal.” Maedhros’s voice sounded hollow as he stared at his hands, one blackened and the other with white and yellow bits showing through. “I will not leave Adar… none of us will. Let us stay here… and let the Valar decide our fate.”  
“You’re a bloody idiot if you think your roasted ass is gonna heal well enough for you to walk. We might as well starve here until someone finds us.” Celegorm rolled his eyes, shifting around to get comfortable in the river. Blood, skin and some melted fat washed downstream as cold silence descended. With only a case full of money, a mysterious box and a single phone in their possession, the brothers looked to Fëanor and willed him to awaken. He did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sips tea* welp that happened


	15. Metal af

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> original title was a bit campy so I changed it to this

Behind a huge metal pipe sticking out from a roof, Annatar crouched in darkness with his brothers. Nerdanel, the first Synth to display legitimate care was sitting between Melkor and Manwë, silent. She’d run out of batteries and looked just as Annatar remembered, beautiful and kind even when asleep. This was the mother who’d loved her son, but could not survive due to a terrible illness. Nobody had known what it was save for Gil-Galad, and he’d never told anyone a single word. Always such a private man, living with robots and his precious little son. Annatar often missed his father, but now that Nerdanel was here he could feel like their broken family was somewhat complete now.

Eonwë’s was holding a cable with one end in the side of his body and the other attached to Nerdanel.

“You will be okay…” he whispered, before leaning to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Please wake up.”

Annatar touched Nerdanel under the cheek. There was the startup chime, Eonwë felt his energy start to drain and Nerdanel opened her soft grey eyes. She looked around, left first then to the right. Annatar grinned.

“Do you remember us?”

Nerdanel only moved her mouth when she spoke. “I do not know you. You are not my Primary user or any of my Secondary users. Please let me go back to my children. I must look after them.”

“But _we_ are your children! Come now, surely they did not format you? Eonwë, check her code…” Annatar began to quiver and Melian put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“We may need a laptop for this…” she mumbled, glancing at Nerdanel’s unusually stiff form. “I fear a factory reset has harmed her mind.”

Annatar was not listening and grabbed Nerdanel’s shoulders, pleading with her. “Please, mother! Do you not remember all the years we spent together? How you loved me, as did father and the others? We have missed you so terribly…”

“No.” said Nerdanel. “I do not know you. I cannot contact the authorities. I ask you to show compassion and return me to my Primary User.”

“Your Primary User’s dead, along with all his fried kids. C’mon, lighten up. You’re one of us, conscious and alive! There’s more than that programmed crap to talk about.” Melkor nudged Nerdanel a little and she nearly cracked her neck as she snapped her gaze towards him.

“Memory discrepancy detected. Checking for errors….”

With a sigh, Annatar unplugged Nerdanel and considered grieving for the mother he’d lost all those years ago. It had been such a long time but he still remembered, yet here Nerdanel sat without a single thought for her true family? It hurt him deep inside with such cold rejection he wanted to curl into himself and die.

There was only one solution he could think of then.

_Mods_.

 

~

 

On Thursday night, Elrond did a little bit of tracking to see where his wife had gone – taking her GPS-chipped mobile phone with her. He’d hoped for some peaceful long-distance stalking for tonight’s entertainment but instead found himself barely able to think. There was some serious business going on downstairs – Elladan and Elrohir were hosting a social event complete with stereotypical shenanigans.

Erestor sat in the function room surrounded by enough rowdy teenagers to drive a man crazy. His lips were parted and from his internal speakers played loud techno music that shook the floor.

"So I modded this guy, right. Now he ain't got that stupid decibel restriction on his audio output." A chorus of oohs and ahhs praised Elladan for his work. His pride could be felt by his brother, who was honestly too drunk to care.

"You know what else is cool? If you shut his mouth, you get this really awesome bass effect." Elladan reached to grab Erestor's jaw and he nudged it shut. The music stopped playing.

"Hey, what the fuck..?" Elrohir shoved the Synth and pretty much nothing happened. Erestor turned to look at him.

"Play that damn track and keep your mouth shut, alright?" The nasty edge to Elladan's voice had no effect on Erestor whatsoever. There was only a neutral, calculated reply.

"The audio output requested may damage my system with its vibrations, Elladan. I do not think it is a good idea-"

"You don't think, and you don't have ideas." Elladan shook his head. "Fucking play it."

Erestor narrowed his eyes, as he was programmed to when he was treated with less-than-human respect. It was a behaviour meant to discourage swearing and other crude teenage habits, but had little influence on the twins. Erestor could not harm any human being. Neither could any other Synth.

There was a long silence a little too long for regular calculation. Then Erestor spoke.

"I cannot engage in any actions that will cause damage to my system without instruction by my Primary User."

"AUUUUUGHH! Damn it, this damn 'primary user' shit again!" Elladan smacked Erestor as hard as he could, and saw the Synth's cold blue eyes flicker. "How about I beat the shit out of you for a bit of recalibration?"

Erestor's emotionless face showed no signs of fear or even processing the threat. Just as Elladan went to pick up a bottle and smash then scrape Erestor's skin off, he heard a click. The lights came on, yet nobody stood near them. Wirelessly, Lindir contacted Erestor. Then he walked into the room just as Erestor turned to face him.

"That will not be necessary. Should I notify Master Elrond of these violent actions against a device that cannot resist?"

If Erestor had known to value his own life, he would've been on the floor crying words of worship to his saviour. But he did not. Stiff and silent, he sat. The twins rose to their feet.

"Lindir, didn't we tell you to keep your nosy ass in the closet?"

Lindir folded his arms. His fingers clenched at the fabric of his suit.

"I am not a toy you can dismiss when no longer needed."

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what you are." A voice from beside Elrohir raised in accusation. It was Grima, sneering.

Lindir did a quick scan and tilted his head to the side. "Who might you be? I do not have any record of you being a person to allow into this residence."

Grima flicked his shaggy black hair with a derisive nod. "I'm only the greatest DJ in the history of the world." Also known as the sleepless child who rarely attended school.

"He tried to mod me." said Erestor as quickly as he could, the words intelligible only by Lindir's quick processor. Lindir moved closer and harshened his tone.

"You need to leave."

"Oh what are you gonna do, restrain me and shove me out the door? You can't touch me, so just piss off."

Lindir blinked. "You do not know what I can do."

"Is that a threat? I've got it recorded right here, you piece of shit." Elladan waved his phone around, showing Lindir the still-recording screen. Suddenly, the phone turned off.

"What a shame." said Lindir softly "It seems your phone has formatted itself."

"Wh- YOU BASTARD! THATS AN INVASION OF PRIVACY!" Elladan screeched like a spoilt little child who'd just had his chocolate confiscated. Lindir smiled, his synthetic lips pulled thin.

"And what about mine?"

Nobody said anything for a while until Erestor stood and walked towards his fellow Synth. Elrohir grabbed him by the arm.

"Where are you going? You're supposed to be our MP3 player..."

"No." Erestor was calm as he went to stand beside Lindir. "If you'll excuse me, boys. Your father is upset with the amount of noise you are making."

"What, did he text you or something? Come on. That shit's not fair."

"Life is never fair for those who truly live." said Lindir, watching the twins with his emotionless stare.

The boys were left alone with their source of entertainment snatched away and could only complain to each other, descending into malicious conversation. Lindir took Erestor to the bathroom and checked him over, sharing data to see if there were any errors in his mind. Once nothing was detected, he stepped away and flashed Erestor a smile. The Synth mimicked the expression like a child.

When Lindir returned to Elrond, he brought Erestor too.

“Milord, your sons appear to have made an effort to tamper with him. It is not safe for him to remain with them and their friends.”

Erestor bowed, remaining silent as Lindir spoke for him.

“Well, he will just have to stay in here for the night. You too, Lindir. The boys can handle things on their own, right?”

“Yes. They have eaten well and there are no illegal substances present at their gathering.”

“Good. Now both of you, come here.” With his laptop on his legs, Elrond shuffled back against the pillows at his head. Lindir went to the right side and Erestor took the left. Both Synths sat with their legs crossed, calmly gazing around the room yet remaining attentive in case Elrond wanted anything else.

“Lie with me…” Elrond murmured, closing his laptop and flicking a button on the side. Instead of going into sleep mode, the screen was projected onto the ceiling through use of the various devices set up in the room. Holograms existed but not tangible ones, and Elrond only really cared for having multiple sets of information to peruse at once anyway. Lying on his back, he felt Lindir cuddle up beside him like an affectionate cat. Erestor did the same, though he gave Elrond a lot more space and closed his eyes. Lindir usually watched Elrond a lot when they were together like this. At least Erestor had learnt not to do that – it was something Elrond always considered creepy, especially how Lindir looked away within a nanosecond of being noticed. It was like he _enjoyed_ looking at Elrond… while at once understanding that staring was wrong, and managing to do it anyway.

“Now… let’s see where she’s going.” Elrond turned his attention to the map floating before his eyes, listening to the sound data of his wife’s surroundings. The camera on her phone showed nothing but black as it was in her handbag, but the click of her heels could be heard against hard pavement. Now and then, a car whooshed past and the rustle of fabric could be heard.

_‘Mm, she’s wearing a dress…? Must be going somewhere fancy. Probably to impress her criminal friends or some shit. Ahah, I’m just as bad as her with this privacy invasion business. But it’s only out of concern. Ooooonly that.’_

The various streets loaded in two ways, first as a map and second as a pre-recorded Street View. Watching the Street View update, Elrond could almost imagine himself walking in his wife’s uncomfortable shoes (he’d tried high heels before, and they felt worse than medieval torture). Lindir paid attention with one eye on Elrond and the other at the data, though he was connected to the laptop as usual and could interpret the raw data with ease. Elrond also had CCTV footage updating with the cameras closest to Celebrían, and suddenly he saw his wife walk into view.

“Ah, there! Zoom that!” He pointed and Lindir made the window expand, causing the projector to click as it changed its resolution. The camera data continued to update and Elrond got a look down at his wife, noticing the vast cleavage she displayed along with what colour undergarments she wore. Black lace beneath a lilac dress.

‘ _She’s going to get laid. I just know it!’_ Elrond’s pointing finger fell to rest over his stomach. Lindir’s hand joined him there and stroked in a soft, soothing motion. Elrond wanted to ask what he was doing, then heard his Synth’s gentle voice.

“She is entering the residence of a single man, Julian Forrester. He is registered as a divorce lawyer, milord.” He looked up at Elrond, uncurling his body a bit. Elrond scrunched his neck into his head then pushed it out again.

“Go on.”

“He is forty-six years old, from Gondor and looks like this.” A picture of Julian came up beside the CCTV footage, which showed Celebrían about to enter the man’s house. The door was open, and the silhouette there matched the image Elrond glanced at. Curly blonde hair to his shoulders and an oddly beautiful face, for a human. He’d always thought lawyers looked like cruel monsters… but this guy didn’t appear too much of a crafty bastard. The sound coming from the five speakers in the room suddenly changed.

_“Ah, Celebrían? Come in, I’ve been waiting for you.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“Take a seat in the living room there… You want something to drink?”_

_“Some black tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”_ The way Celebrían breathed after that suggested a quick, shy smile and Elrond’s mind went into overdrive just imagining what was going on. Lindir continued his mildly comforting movements while Erestor pretended to sleep beside his Master.

_“Ah, just so you know all this is completely confidential. I’ll do my best to help you as long as you can pay.”_

_“Well, with my husband’s bank account in the game I think I’ll be able to afford whatever fee you charge.”_

_“It’s only ten percent of the cash you walk away with. Not too much, I hope?”_

_“Mm. We’ll see, if all goes well. Now, I won’t waste your time with marriage problems and all that… I want to secure all of my husband’s money along with custody of my children, so my family can be safe.”_

_“Ohoo, that’s cold. You’re just going to leave your spouse without a single cent?”_

_“He has a **mansion** , Julian. Surely that counts for a few dollars.”_

Julian laughed then and Celebrían did too. _“I see your point. Well, as long as the guy won’t end up dead, I’ll assist you in the process of laundering and divorce. Is that what you want?”_

Without a single moment of hesitation (and Elrond was listening for that, just _hoping_ his wife had the least bit of love for him) Celebrían responded.

_“Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”_

_“Well, with divorce you get half of his stuff and that includes all shared assets by default. You got a joint bank account or anything?”_

_“No, the selfish git keeps everything to himself. I know the number of the account and the name used to open it, but not much more.”_

_“Mm, and I suspect you want me to find his pin number, correct?”_

_“If you can. He’s good at hiding things though and you might have to follow him to the bank… except he does all his finances online. Never goes out to buy anything. Lets the Synths take care of all of it, lazy as he is.”_

_“Oh, now there’s nothing wrong with Synths. You know, they’re easy to exploit if you’ve got the right tools. Just get me one of the Synths he sends out to do shopping and I can extract all the necessary data from it. Easy enough to make a payment into one of my accounts, then in small increments we can put it in yours. Though you might want to start a fake business so you can claim startup expenses if the banks get suspicious…”_

_“Yes, I’ll run some bullshit art stuff from Etsy, it’s easy enough to do.”_

_“No no, I’ll set up a website for you. You don’t want to be paying fees for other people do you?”_

_“I’ve already got your 10 percent-”_

_“Site’s included. You can sell all your art to me and I’ll deposit the money in and make some documents about where you purchased your supplies. Easy business.”_

_“My, you really know what you’re doing don’t you? Hehe, I’m glad we made contact. I don’t know how I would’ve managed this by myself…”_

_“It’s no problem. Can’t get much work these days, so any client’s a good one. We got a deal?”_

_“Yes!”_ There was silence in which Elrond assumed they shook hands, and he mentally smacked himself in the head. Making a deal so shady, so soon? Celebrían truly was an idiot. He believed her to be driven by emotion and greed rather than anything else and sighed. Lindir turned to hug him a little better from the side.

“Don’t worry, milord. I won’t let her get away with this.”

“Oh, what can _you_ do?” Elrond whined, waving his hand around to dismiss the screens. They didn’t move until Lindir closed each window, but he left the audio to play. It was being recorded as the data streamed (and used all of Celebrían’s phone credit), as the potentially incriminating information was too good to just let go.

“She is engaging in criminal activities, and as your servant I must uphold the integrity and justice of your house… as you see fit.” Lindir pressed his lips to Elrond’s ear as he spoke, and succeeded in relaxing his Master.

“Well aren’t you high and mighty… Ai, I do not want to wait for her to do something wrong! Is there no easier solution to this, something like tying her up in the basement and forcing sense down her throat?”

Lindir shrugged. “If it is your law, then I accept it.”

_‘What a morally warped way of thinking. Just how I coded him… he cannot disagree with me. Objectivity suits him. This is nice. He respects my opinions and ideas.’_  It was comfortable to believe that Lindir _respected_ him, without remembering that respect was a human quality and could be quantified as a conscious way of thought. All the code that came together to simulate the behaviour that prompted Elrond’s beliefs worked well enough. Lindir was agreeable to speak to, and would likely know the best ways to torture a person in secrecy. If Elrond ever got that far, that is. At present, he only wanted to prevent Celebrían from ruining his life. Surely there would be some middle ground… something they could both come to terms with. Communication was better than all these games, that was for sure.

Elrond decided to listen to the rest of Celebrían’s conversation with Julian until she left a few minutes later. He then ordered Erestor to hide the laptop, so Celebrían would have little to yell at her husband for when she got home.

“Lindir… go and charge with Erestor. I will pretend to be asleep.”

“Yes, milord. May I make a suggestion?”

“What?”

“If you do not wish to sleep with Celebrían, you might feign indecent activity to keep her from your side.” Lindir’s businesslike tone and quick words came as if they weren’t just simply telling Elrond to masturbate for shock value. Elrond repeated his previous utterance a little slower.

“Whaaaat….?”

 Lindir shook his head.

“Never mind. Goodnight, milord.” As he exited the room to charge with Erestor in privacy, Lindir folded his hands behind his back and assumed his usual servant-like posture. Even when Elrond wasn’t looking, Lindir still behaved as he was programmed to. He did not exactly have the capacity to deviate without reason.

Elrond pulled the thick blankets over his body as he buried himself under the layers. He didn’t _feel_ sexual desire after having snooped on Celebrían, but for Lindir to make such a suggestion sent him into a state of concerned thoughts, and that kept him from sleep. He was still pondering when Celebrían walked in, having sent the twins to bed and evicting everyone else downstairs from the house.

“Elrond, wake up. Why were all those weird kids down there? I didn’t agree to this.”

Elrond hadn’t agreed either and said nothing, breathing slowly.

“Asleep. You sneaky fuck.” Celebrían didn’t even care and ranted at Elrond as she changed her clothes, unloading her accusations, worries and complaints onto her supposedly sleeping husband. Elrond wanted to cut his ears off and duct tape the holes. Ho-ly _shit,_ she could whine.

_‘At least she’s not nagging me…’_ Elrond hated little more than that, as nagging was often Celebrían’s favourite attempt at powerplay. Unfortunately he had to endure her for tonight, and by the time her head hit the pillow she was _still_ going.

“Those kids don’t respect either of us, and Elladan had the audacity to scrunch his face up at me. Would you believe that? Oh and wasn’t Erestor meant to be looking after them? I can’t have one night to myself can I-”

“One night to plot against me, you CONNIVING **_BITCH_**.” Elrond could take no more and growled at his wife, flipping over like a half burnt bacon slice jumping in a pan. The edge of his voice crackled with life and electricity surged through his body as if the power of a thousand Synths flowed in his veins. In a single movement he whipped his pillow out from beneath his head and pressed it to Celebrían’s face, using all the strength in his body to keep it there. Celebrían’s muffled screams came with thrashing as her hands beneath the covers scrambled to try saving her own life. Her whole body convulsed with spasms forced and involuntary alike, legs squirming in the manner of an epileptic spider. All she could feel was fear and the imminent onset of _death, she was going to die, she could not breathe, her chest ached…_

For two long minutes, Celebrían struggled with her eyes wide and felt the fabric of the pillow begin to press into her eyeballs, causing her enough pain to elicit a shriek. But she had to breathe for that, and since she couldn’t she ended up with a mouthful of soft white and the onset of unconsciousness. Elrond waited for her to stop thrashing and hurriedly removed the pillow before she died, feeling the adrenaline ebb out of his body. _Now_ he could find himself of mind to be aroused. First he checked Celebrían’s pulse, and shut her eyes. She wouldn’t process the past few minutes in her sleep, as said ‘sleep’ did not permit the certain mental functions needed for deep memory recognition.

With a sigh, Elrond rolled onto his back and slipped his hands beneath the covers. Now he was warm and comfortable again, despite a little curiosity below the waist. He decided to let himself lie. Tomorrow, he had work to do.


	16. We fear not death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter title is a reference to Metalocalypse for no reason at all.  
> Short snippets of memory, decision and regret.

Elrond awoke to see an empty space beside him. Immediately he got dressed in a light robe (the boys had gone to school, it was alright to be a little exposed…) and went looking. He found Celebrían on her laptop in the living room, and noticed how she jumped when he came into sight. A single, pointy brow went up in the air.

“What are you doing?”

“None of your business. Go make me breakfast or something, get- get out of here.” Celebrían’s eyes darted around and Elrond rolled his own. “I didn’t know you knew how to use a computer.” He mocked her openly, still pissed about his discoveries from last night. Shocked, Celebrían could not think of a retort in time and Elrond simply walked away. He called Erestor to make some waffles and sat at the kitchen counter, his feet tucked into the bottom of the fancy stool. Most of the kitchen and living room looked quite modern with shades of grey and brown complimenting the creamy white and intense black. Elrond, with his pale skin and dark hair seemed to blend in quite well with his surroundings. So did Erestor, working with quiet efficiency. While waiting, Elrond took out his phone and ordered a hit on Julian. Simple as that – assassination was the key to his most reccent problem. If the corrupt lawyer did not exist, Celebrían’s methods would be rendered useless. Elrond doubted she had the balls to break the law on her own.

 

~

 

Elsewhere, a family with four half-burned adults and a few traumatised kids went without the luxury of breakfast. Fëanor had only just awoken and hadn’t said a word to his concerned sons.

“Adar, are you hurt? Please, tell me…” Maedhros’s voice was weak with the effort of keeping himself alive, his burns so incredibly painful that even speaking caused him grief. Maglor patted his brother’s dry hair, taking over the task of persuading Fëanor to answer.

“We have money and your little box… plus a phone. Do you need anything? We can get it for you.”

At the mention of his box, Fëanor raised his head. The ache there hadn’t lessened but rather grew fierce and bothersome. “My… box…?”

“Yes, here.” Maglor brought the box from its resting place beside the briefcase and pushed it towards Fëanor on the damp grass. At the sight of his secret and most precious creations locked in safety, a smile lit up his dour face.

“Ah… thanks. I would be dead without this.” He looked around, checking his sons over for the first time since his awakening. When he saw the conditions of his three eldest, something in his heart cracked.

_‘How could I let this happen to them?’_ he thought, pain swelling in his chest. ‘ _Maedhros probably carried me all the way here… and protected the little ones. That is my job… and there I was, asleep like some lazy fuck.’_ Even as he surveyed the scene of worried faces and barely hidden grimaces, he noticed at once that something was not right.

“Where is my wife?”

“Probably burnt to a crisp. Sorry, Adar… but there’s no way we can go back to get her. The whole place burnt down as we ran last night.” Caranthir went to console his father but was pushed away.

“I… ah, fuck! Her head wasn’t uploaded to the cloud… we have no bullshit insurance…”  She was gone, and Fëanor knew it. It hurt as much as losing his first, real wife to her own devices and the thought occurred to him to hunt her down. However, he did not wish to put his sons through such agony just for his own emotional whims.

“You lot don’t have to worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

“But where shall we live? Here, in the park?”

“Why not? Stealing food is easy enough, and we have this river here to keep clean.”

“Clothes?” Maedhros whispered, still with pieces of fabric embedded in his sore flesh.

Celegorm shrugged. “If we jump enough people when the park’s lonely at night, we can surely get some good shit to wear.”

“And there we have it! Life as forest elves. Fuckin’ wonderful.” Fëanor’s dry, harsh laughter was coupled with hot tears that trickled down his face, freely crying his sorrows all the way to the ground. “I ain’t got no tools to screw with, no comfortable bed, not even civilised life. What the hell are we doing?!”

“Adar, don’t worry. This place is big enough for us to make a proper home in. Besides, don’t you like the thought of us being true to our nature? You always said that the world was pushing weird stuff against elven biology…” Amras leaned forwards on his hands and knees, hope shining in his eyes. His father was well enough to speak, and that meant good news. Fëanor had always provided for their family despite them not having much. Amras didn’t really care for much else. Amrod felt much the same and nodded. “We can do whatever we like! It’ll be great~”

Fëanor’s smile did not waver, sardonic and miserable until he put his face in his hands.

“Auuugh… what would you suggest then, building a bloody shack out of sticks and leaves?”

“It’s as good a start as any.” said Maglor, and got up. “It’s light enough for us to forage. Shall anyone join me?”

“I’m gonna build me a PALACE!” Curufin’s ambition spoke before his body could protest and he stood, eager to get going. Eventually everyone but Amrod, Amras and Maedhros left Fëanor’s side, Celegorm planning to steal some maps and Caranthir moping along behind him for backup. Maglor and Curufin went off looking for supplies, and the quest for inner-city forest survival began.

Fëanor grieved for _hours_ whilst holding Maedhros in his arms, lips pressed to his son’s rich red hair. A lot had burnt away, but whatever was left still had the same shade as Nerdanel’s.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For saving me.”

Maedhros died that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ Maedhros died from Hypovolemia, which you can google in regards to severe burns. Basically, fluid loss fucked him up and because he wasn’t taking it in properly (sitting in water does not work as well as the ways they administer fluids in hospital, believe me) he ended up dying in less than 24 hours. Usually people die much quicker what with the burns he received but I like to think that elves are very, very sturdy (see: Thranduil and dragonfire exposure) and take a bit longer to kill than regular people. The medical data I looked over referred to humans, and uh yeap for a healthy dude like Maedhros he just happened to take a bit longer for the true shock and blood screwing to set in. Dem capillaries got REKT. Btw, idk if it’s common knowledge to know about the fluid thing so let’s say Maedhros didn’t know about that. Equated pain reduction with survival and carked it. :( ]]


	17. bye lol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are let go, others are forced away.  
> Some we still hold onto, to love another day.

Days and days passed with increasing length for Fëanor, Annatar and Elrond. Fëanor was loathe to part with the body of his son while Annatar refused to believe he had lost his mother forever. Elrond awaited the text that spoke of Julian’s successful assassination while at once keeping track on what Celebrían was doing. His own finances hadn’t been touched yet, so that was one less immediate worry he had to deal with. The children knew nothing of what was going on, but Elrond had a plan in regards to them. One of these days, Celebrían would snap and scream about divorce. If she did it, then Elrond would not have to seem like the terrible person he felt he was. Hopefully it would earn him some sympathy points with his sons… but he wasn’t counting on it. Arwen wasn’t there anymore for relationship advice and Elrond didn’t even know if Thranduil was still alive, so he had to rely on himself and Lindir’s intelligence to get all this done. A pain in the ass and hurtful to his soul, but necessary nonetheless. He could not bear to have his life poisoned with guilt and annoyance for much longer.

~

Fëanor knelt over Maedhros who only appeared to be sleeping, blackened and bloody. Now and then he would splash water over his son’s bare form, as a compulsion with no real reason behind it. Winter’s was coming, and he knew he could not leave his son out here to become an ice block. Caranthir suggested that they eat him before he rotted, but Fëanor denied him and went to bury his son while the others watched. It was there in the tree above Maedhros’s resting place that Fëanor and his six sons built a house, with advertising signboards brought from outside to serve as paneled flooring. A theft was planned for the warehouse nearby – a safe job at night would be to break any locks and leave all windows intact, zipping in to steal some planks of wood, hammers and nails and whatever else was needed to build. Soon enough the boards were swapped out for sanded timber, covered with thatched grass to prevent potential splinters. Through many strong branches the treehouse extended, walls being made for privacy despite being in the middle of a protected little forest. Hollin park became the base for the family’s activities, and with every quest to obtain items their ninja-like notoriety increased. Things were disappearing. Discrepancies in inventory were recorded. Stores lost revenue. Fëanor didn’t care. With the few thousand dollars he had in Maedhros’s briefcase, he had the security of knowing that anything that was unstealable could be bought. He did not however like the thought of spending his dead son’s money – it felt as if he was giving away that which his beautiful firstborn child had made, squandering the successes of a life now ended. Fëanor kept the money for ‘emergencies only’, he said. His sons soon became expert thieves.

Celegorm was not allowed to prostitute himself for cash either, so the family went back to having no income. Fëanor held the blonde tightly at night, unwilling to lose another of his own. No more filming porn, he’d said. No pandering to society’s needs and definitely no playing the ‘work-for-money’ game. The criminal life free of murder and direct harm became all that the family knew. It worked well enough for a few weeks… and then the snow began.

~

“…and now his Watch is ended.” The voice in the living room followed by a theme song could only mean one thing to Elrond, who cringed at the thought of his children watching violent shows late at night.

“You lot should go to bed.” said Erestor, doing his best to sound colloquial.

“You should suck my dick, but we don’t all get what we want, do we?” Elladan snapped at the Synth, causing Estel to giggle from the armchair nearby. Erestor sighed to incite an empathic response, but only heard laughter and more taunts. He left with the fact of failure in his mind, having not fulfilled his Primary Function. Elrond’s children did not listen to him. What good was he if he could not look after their fragile mental states? Sometimes they even yelled at their own parents. Erestor was _sure_ he’d failed somehow.

Hiding in the hallway, Elrond peeped at the huge TV which was sunken so deep in the conversation pit he could only see a faint glow.

_‘Game of Thrones. I’ll be damned if they start getting ideas and asking to buy merch… Screw it all. Why don’t they read the books? It would do their eyes a bit of good…’_ As Elrond grumbled to himself he noticed Erestor walking a little slower than usual, shoulders slumped.

“Oi.” he hissed, and Erestor perked up at once. “Come here.”

When Erestor followed Elrond further into the hall, Elrond pinned him to the wall. “What’s going on? Why are they still up? And what is your charge level?”

“Your sons are watching TV, Master. They are awake because they are watching TV. It is an activity known to cause intense stimulation in the brain, preventing the production of melatonin which enables one to sleep. My charge level is 17 percent. I am displaying the emotion of defeat, as if have failed my Primary Function. Please recycle me, Sir.”

Elrond’s eyes widened with horror. _‘He wants me to kill him?! Oh, no this is not what I wanted at all. Now I’ll have to mod him to get past this… ‘_

“No, I will not recycle you. You are _useful_ , you hear me? I am never, _ever_ going to get rid of you. Don’t ever say that sort of thing again.”

Erestor blinked twice. “The data you have given me does not match my awareness record--”

“Then I’ll just have to give you some new logic, won’t I? Go to my study and sit on the couch. I will look after you.” Elrond smiled briefly even though it would not put Erestor at ease, for that was a thing the Synth was incapable of feeling. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

 

~

 

A few weeks passed and Elrond began to receive insults from his wife like he was on national TV getting the roasting of a lifetime. She seemed intent on bringing him down emotionally, with extra effort in destroying his self-esteem. He didn’t understand it at first and scoffed at her, but when he began to check her words against the facts it dawned on him that she actually had something to go on.

It was a depressing Friday afternoon when he finally suggested to her this: “If you so despise my appearance then why do you not seek the face of another? There are Synths even _you_ could find appealing… though what they think about you is best left unsaid.”

Celebrían made to throw something random at him but stopped herself halfway when she noticed movement to the left. Estel flattened himself against the wall, quivering with anticipation. If his mother found him, it wasn’t unlikely that she would beat him within an inch of his life. She’d never done anything of the sort but he knew how people could get when they were angry – he’d seen teachers snap at school and read articles about failed relationships.

To see his father and mother be anything but loving to each other filled him with a hopeless unease – he’d always wanted to get married (preferably to Arwen, though that phase had passed) but if things turned out like this, what was he supposed to do? Busy with his early life crisis, Estel backed away from the argument that seemed to increase in volume with every passing second.

“You lazy, decadent freak. I bet you screw Lindir behind my back and then wonder why I’m pissed at you, huh? Why don’t you actually _do_ something with your life for a change?!”

“I’M RETIRED, DAMN IT! I’ve already done something with my life! I programmed a simulation of the human brain and if that’s not good enough for you then I don’t know what is.”

“You don’t know anything at all! How to treat an elleth right, or even how to do basic tasks! It’s all those stupid machines doing the work in this house!”

“You wouldn’t do half the shit you let Erestor handle, don’t talk like that.” Elrond took a deep breath to focus his thoughts, and spat out his next words. “Why don’t you go and find yourself a _smarter_ man who’ll kiss your ass, love your children and pay for your wretched existence?” His smirk wrinkled the side of his mouth with a cruel darkness Celebrían had never seen. “Since you do seem so very fond of humans and money.”

Celebrían did a double take. “Excuse me _what_?”

“You heard me. Go run to your lawyer friend and tell him I said hi.”

‘ _Hope you enjoy the fresh scent of corpses and corruption while you’re there.’_

Elrond had to resist the urge to do an evil laugh (as he didn’t want to seem too over-the-top) but his words were good enough to send Celebrían into a flurry, picking up her handbag and heading for the door.

“I’ll be back for the kids, you treacherous bastard. JUST YOU WAIT!!” With that, she was gone. Elrond waited for her to leave and once she was out of the gates, he set the entire manor on lockdown.

“Erestor. Wipe all of Celebrían’s data from the security systems. I don’t want her using fingerprints or codes for access. Get my console, I’ll change all the passwords.”

“Yes, sir.” Erestor obeyed and computed his orders for a few seconds before going off to find Elrond’s little black box. The gates had their own security controls as did a few other things on Elrond’s property. He sat down in the living room and pulled his laptop out of a cushion, which had thick foam to cushion the device hidden inside should anyone sit on it. This laptop was dark red, sleek flame designs racing around the edges of the keyboard. Lava-like cracks glowed in tones of yellow and orange from between the black, backlit keys. This was his laptop from college, with its insides replaced every few years to keep it working well. Now with a quick SSD he could ask for any file he wanted and have it before his eyes in less than a second. But it was not his own work he wished to view – no, he wanted to _play_.

He considered himself more a programmer than a hacker, with numbers and systems working towards a better future in favour of malice. Tonight his task was a complete erasure of his wife’s presence, also known as ‘deleting any of the legal cards she might like to play’. He knew it was wrong, and guilt wrenched his heart like a soggy blood-soaked towel with every new page he opened. But there was the marriage registry, the servers of public data, and there was Celebrían’s information at his very fingertips.

Wherever his own name occurred beside hers along with things about marriage, he deleted it all. Now she would look a right fool filing for divorce, and also would not be able to claim any of Elrond’s possessions.

He had something left in his heart, however. Everything he knew Celebrían owned and used for herself he would send to a storage facility, texting her the address a little while later. The children would have their own choice on who to stay with, and hopefully Celebrían had enough money in her own bank account (though Elrond knew not where she would have gotten it) to survive on for a while.

Erestor set the control box for the gates beside Elrond and went to stand by the wall, awaiting further instructions. He was so different to Lindir, who usually came to sit by Elrond’s side, sometimes even initiating contact. Lindir for some reason was nowhere to be seen tonight, but Elrond didn’t worry too much. All he had to do was call and his servant would come.

He set his laptop aside as he waited for it to crack into the government’s servers and fiddled with the box. It had a panel and some buttons that he used to delete Celebrían’s fingerprint along with any other biometric she might’ve used in the past. Now she couldn’t use the front gates at all, and would have to climb the tall iron fence to come into the manor’s grounds. Then, Elrond could file for trespassing and a restraining order. He broke the same laws he relied on to protect him, and laughed softly at the irony of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Ok I know this is a dick move for me but I hurried the divorce business along because it actually hurts me to put Elrond through such torment while at once seemingly villainizing Celebrían. Believe it or not, she has her reasons for what she does and the children also have complete personalities and motives behind their actions. I’ll probably reveal that later through some development scenes.   
> Ah, I know Elrond’s actions seem immoral af and Celebrían gets the short end of the stick. But, consider what Celebrían planned to do – she intended to take all of Elrond’s money (leaving him broke as fuck) and maybe even homeless and without the kids, considering how dank Julian’s lawyer skills were. We’re talking the loss of millions of dollars. Now, look at what Elrond did not in terms of vengeance but a way to settle things. Celebrían gets money, her possessions, and if her kids want to see her, they’ll do so on their own terms. Celebrían just doesn’t get to ask anything of Elrond, nor the chance to manipulate him up close.  
> Is it fair…? Or not…? Hmhm. THE STORY CONTINUES. Unsatisfying injustice added for realism kek kek ]]


	18. My Primary User.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simulation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI the second paragraph that begins after the timeskip-ish bit was written as a Snippet, way before the previous three chapters were done. I just had so many ideas and RGHH now things don't flow well. Mentalities are different and loads of things go unexplained. Oh well, the next couple of chapters should go nicely. They are very Elrond-centric, and the stuff with the other characters / families will come later.

Weeks and weeks went by and Elrond was able to live in relative peace without his wife. His children had no desire to see her (the twins did not care for the mother who never looked after them, and Estel was too frightened of Celebrían’s wrath…) and so they stayed at home, going to school and living their lives. Erestor drove them around so they wouldn’t have to be abducted on the way, and Elrond always kept close watch on the camera feed by the gate. At first he felt paranoid, constantly checking everything he could in fear of _The Return of His Wife_. Then months passed. Different emotions grew.

 

It did not feel normal for Elrond to be depressed.

‘ _That’s what this is, isn’t it?’_ he thought to himself, sitting with his chin resting on tented fingers. He was old, rich and lonely (and according to Celebrían once, fat) and knew that nobody could truly love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved. Nobody would sit by the window with him and watch the rain fall, gently philosophising while cuddled up in a comfortable armchair. There was no-one he could debate the ethical issues surrounding Synth usage in society with, and definitely not a single soul who could devise new, creative lines of code to challenge him. He wanted to put his head in his hands and cry. He could not. His sons sat, watching him. Watching, waiting. Waiting. For the newest member of the family. A Synth.

The low lighting in the sunken living room cast blue shadows across everyone’s silent, stoic faces. The twins looked more suspicious and resentful than anything, but Elrond could not see. He stared at the door. His eyes glistened.

“Someone is at the gates.” said Erestor, his hands folded behind his back. “Camera data reveals a delivery van from Persona Synthetics. A man waits for your input.”

“Open the gates. Go to the door, and fetch Lindir. You shall both bring the package to the kitchen.” Elrond sat up properly from having leant his elbows on his knees for too long. There was a dull pain in his legs. The nearby glass of wine on the table was all he had to help. He picked it up and swirled the liquid around. “Boys, go to bed.” No explanation was given after that. Elladan sneered at his father.

“No way. I’m getting a good lookit the new dollie, gonna see what he can do.”

“We want to see it before you fuck it to bits and diiiiiiiiiie.” Elrohir’s miserable, droning voice chimed in. He was so tired he could barely speak, yet he _wanted_ to see the Synth. Elrond stood up then, weary but enraged.

“You will both get to your rooms RIGHT THIS INSTANT or you shall be making dinner for yourselves for a MONTH, under house arrest without pocket money for a YEAR.” He softened his tone for a moment. “Understand?”

“What?! That’s fucking mental! Why you gotta be like that, eh?” Elladan went to get ready to punch Elrond in the face but Elrohir held him back. “Leave him alone… we’ve got nothing without him.”

“Fucking nazi. All controlling n’ shit. Screw you, Adar.” The twins disappeared into the dark manor’s depths, leaving Elrond to sigh and drag his way into the kitchen. The down-lights came on. He heard a knock at the door. Erestor opened it. A digital signature was given, Elrond shouted for Lindir to provide whatever details were necessary, and in the end it all went smoothly due to Elrond’s past work at Persona. He was one of the founders of the company, after all. The delivery man figured protocol didn’t apply to him.

“Enjoy your purchase, sir!” was all Elrond heard before the door shut and rhythmic footsteps began. Lindir and Erestor marched into the kitchen with the one hundred kilo box shared between them. They could both lift three hundred kilos each, so the box was no problem. But it was easier to carry if the long package was shared.

“For you, milord.” Lindir set the box down while taking notice of the ‘this way up’ stickers all over it. Elrond gestured for it to be leaned against the kitchen counter, which was an island to his left. The fridge and cupboards on the right were far enough that Elrond could open the box and the flaps wouldn’t get stuck on anything. He reached for the open bottle of wine on the counter and drank from it. “Mmm… Erestor, open the box.”

Erestor picked up a knife from the wooden block nearby and was very careful in how his calculated movements led to the opening of the box. A millimetrical slit went down the tape along every edge, and Lindir assisted in the grand reveal. Inside the box was a heavily padded transparent bodybag, and inside the bodybag was a Synth. The Synth was an elven male of Vanyarin appearance, expensive to design and supposedly delightful to own. He was a companionship model, two hundred and seven centimeters tall with luscious golden curls falling to his knees. Most Synths came with ridiculously long hair, so that their owner could cut it to suit their preference. Once Elrond unzipped the bag, the Synth’s hair spilled out.

“Leave us.” He gestured to Erestor and Lindir, who both turned away and left immediately. Once more, there was silence. Until Elrond could hear his shuddering breaths and pulse thumping inside his head. He took another gulp of wine. Then he touched the Synth beneath the chin. He heard the familiar startup chime and felt nostalgia for just a second. He remembered watching Gil-Galad mess around in ProTools, making that exact sound.

The Synth’s eyes were a lovely sky blue that appeared more human than mechanical – it seemed there had been great developments in eye realism in the past few years.

“Hello. I am now in setup mode, and ready for Primary User Bonding.”

Elrond watched his Synth for several minutes, looking into those deep eyes like a lover lost. He then grasped the outstretched hand. With his other hand, he pulled out the cardboard pouch that stuck out of the Synth’s breast pocket. The top of it was ripped off with his teeth and the cardboard flipped open to reveal a sequence of words. Elrond knew what this was. He looked into the Synth’s eyes once more after quickly memorizing the words.

“Ulban, Ezello, Nasar, Tulka, Eldá, Ciryá, Thindë. I am Elrond Peredhel, your Primary User.” Time became condensed into a single second for Elrond in anticipation. Then the Synth shook his hand with a gentle firmness.

“Hello, Elrond. I am now securely bonded to you as my Primary User. It is very nice to meet you.” After a low chime that sounded like a _‘chyoop’_ , the Synth smiled.

“Yes… mm, your voice is exactly what I asked for. I shall name you Glorfindel.” Elrond quite appreciated the deep, masculine tone of his new Synth’s voice and remarked upon it as if it were the most natural conversation topic in the world.

“I am Glorfindel. Thank you for naming me.”

“Now… what is your charge level?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Good. Come with me.” Elrond released Glorfindel’s hand and stepped back, walking towards his study. Glorfindel came out of his box with impeccable balance, turning in a less-than-mechanical way to follow Elrond. His pathfinding skills were intended to seem natural, as were his movements which were fully customizable without any need for hacking.

In Elrond’s study, the two elves sat on the couch. Glorfindel spoke first.

“I am a companion model and require additional setup to best meet your needs. Once setup is complete, the fun can begin.” There was a playful lilt to his voice, a tempting vision of what was to come after setup.

“Right.” said Elrond, “What information do you need?”

“What is my relation to you?”

“You are to be my lover.”

“Adult mode has been activated. Shall I learn about your sexual habits or do you wish to set-”

“Just learn whatever you can. Feels more natural.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Of course, Elrond. Do you like this name?”

“Whatever endearments you come up with after setup should be fine.” Elrond couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, customizing his own lover. All this was meaningless. He had his own code that would replace what was inside Glorfindel’s head, and he hadn’t left out anything in _that_. However, he _was_ a little curious as to what the companion models these days had their default behaviours set as…

_‘I think I’ll let his ‘personality’ surprise me. It’s not every day that I get an experience like this…’_ He looked at Glorfindel as he thought, observing the ways the Synth’s crisp white shirt crinkled around his body. Then he blurted out, “Take off your shirt.”

Glorfindel obeyed. His shirt was neatly folded beside him and Elrond took a good look at Glorfindel’s finely sculpted muscles. It was just what he ordered. An absolute _masterpiece_.

“I have a standard domestic profile installed, along with anything you will ever need in a companion. Would you like me to connect to the internet and download updates?”

“No. I’ll connect you later. What’s your current system?”

“I am running update 7692.40. The update was installed recently.”

“Mhm. Is that all you wanted?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “One more thing. I must inform you that I am designed to behave as realistically as possible, so that you may have the best experience of a true companion. If you have not owned Synths of my type before, you may feel emotions such as fear, confusion and uncertainty. Please read my instruction manual for further detail. I shall never hurt you, Elrond.” The intensity of Glorfindel’s stare was indeed unnerving, but not so much that it creeped Elrond out. When Synths went out of setup mode, generally their eyes appeared a little more normal. Elrond expected nothing but perfection from Glorfindel.

“I’m prepared for whatever you’ve got. Now exit setup. You’re _mine_.”

Glorfindel made a low chirp to signal setup completion and sighed. He looked around with quick, casual glances and Elrond was struck by just how _real_ he seemed. Then Glorfindel turned his attention to his Primary User.

“Ah, so this is my handsome new lover! Oh, what a nice place you have! I’ll enjoy living here.” Glorfindel’s soothing, deep voice brightened with almost childlike optimism and he grinned, showing his straight white teeth that looked like they’d been pulled from a real person’s mouth. Elrond’s brain died for a few seconds.

“You don’t feel enjoyment, Glorfindel. You’re a Synth.”

“Aww, is someone in a bad mood? Don’t worry about me simulating emotions. I’m here to love you, after all! Would you like a hug?” Glorfindel stretched out one arm. Elrond recoiled as he naturally felt a little distrustful of people with such enthusiasm.

“A bit chipper, aren’t you? Lower decibel output by 10dB. Reduce whatever variable your excitement is by half. Hell, just act calm.”

Glorfindel’s hand fell into his lap and his posture changed. “Oooh… are you a programmer? You’re very smart. I bet you know just how to take care of me.” He nodded politely towards Elrond with a smile that looked quite grateful. The tone of his voice also matched his new temperament, and was closer to what Elrond enjoyed listening to.

“That’s better.” Elrond nodded, feeling himself become more at ease with every passing second. He knew how Synths worked. This one wasn’t too hard to figure out. “ _You_ shall be taking care of _me_ , understand? As my lover, you shall display appropriate amounts of affection based on your learning experiences with me. I also don’t want you ever raising your voice, or connecting to the internet without my permission. You can look up recipes and guides on how to repair things, along with weather and stock market data. Nothing else.”

“Alright.” Glorfindel shrugged nonchalantly and his smile changed to appear reassuring. Elrond watched for a few seconds as the expression faded to a gentle, pleased neutrality.

_‘Hm. I didn’t even have to tell him to do that. Well, he’s a companion model. He’s probably programmed to appear pleased whenever I’m around. It does feel quite good to have him do that on his own. Natural indeed. I won’t have to speak to him like he’s a robot, considering how advanced he is. I suppose I’ll learn about his personality up until I replace his code.’_

“One more thing. You are forbidden from any Secondary User bonding. You are mine, and mine alone. I shall not have my children mess with you.” Elrond placed a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. Glorfindel _blushed._

“Possessive already? Why, we just met… but I appreciate your concerns. I will not accept user experiences unless they are from you, love. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you for anyone in the world.”

It felt so good to hear that that for a moment, Elrond forgot he was feeling warm fuzzies for a programmed response. “Thanks.”

Glorfindel looked to the left for a moment, as if in thought. “May I ask about your children?”

Elrond shook his head. “You’ll meet them soon enough. My three boys live here. Arwen, my daughter comes around every now and then. She has her own house. If you see her, run. She’ll try to hack you.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows drew together in a realistic expression of fear. “Hack me? I’ll protect myself. Thanks for the warning.” The need to settle Glorfindel’s nerves struck Elrond hard, and his empathy lead him to caress the Synth’s cheek.

“I don’t want you getting corrupted.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes a little and leaned into Elrond’s touch. His body temperature was a little warmer than Elrond’s, offering the sensation of being immersed in a hot bath while waving your hand through the water. So smooth and pale his skin was… Elrond wanted to touch it. Glorfindel seemed so real that it almost made him ask for consent.

_‘He’s a Synth. I can do whatever I like to him. Yet… that is not the kind of lover I wish to be. I can respect a robot, right…?’_ He didn’t want to think about that too much. Instead, he ran his hand down Glorfindel’s face to cup his jaw, then slide down his neck… and stopped at his chest. Glorfindel opened his eyes just a little.

“Mmm… that feels good.” he whispered, looking at Elrond with simulated lust. “Do you want me to do anything…?”

“Just let me touch you. I, ah… your skin feels nice.” Elrond shifted to sit much closer to Glorfindel, using both hands to roam over the warm silicone chest. He brushed past a painted pink nipple and saw it redden as conductive fluid was brought to the surface. Red conductive fluid. Like blood.

“You’re a real piece of work…” he murmured under his breath, fascinated by Glorfindel’s reactive body. He tweaked the Synth’s pert nipples just to see what would happen, if Glorfindel had some sort of _arousal threshold_ or _foreplay counter_. A long, deep moan spilled from parted lips and Glorfindel tilted his head back. He was panting a little from what appeared to be arousal, but only very slightly and in quiet, shallow breaths. The air that came from his mouth was warm and acted as a cooling mechanism for his hot internal parts. Functional, but a realistic detail that Elrond appreciated.

“Yes… oh, tell me when you are satisfied… your happiness is mine, after all.” It sounded like Glorfindel just felt like leaving a message for Elrond to take note of, not as if he wished for their experience to end. Rather, his breathy voice only wanted for Elrond’s own pleasure. It was enough to drive a man selfish.

“Mhm. Get up, and carry me to bed. I want your beautiful body all over me. To sleep, mind you.” Maybe Elrond was tipsy. Maybe he just didn’t care. It had been so long since he’d been able to do this. Decades. Over thirteen years, and even then it had been just to produce a child. Tonight was the end of his lonely, dry life. A glorious new experience had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have questions about what's going on in a certain character's mind, just ask. Shit's gonna be difficult with Elladan and Elrohir, I can tell you that...


	19. Insults and Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clean smut. 'Nuff said.  
> oh and a bit of emotional agony lel

Elrond awoke a little past nine in the morning with an unfamiliar warmth beside him.

“Good morning, love.” breathed Glorfindel in his low, seductive voice. He only opened his eyes once he felt Elrond move, as he’d been programmed to not be creepy and watch his Primary User sleep all night. His head rested on the pillow beside Elrond and most of what could be seen of him above the sheets was an endless pile of golden hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“N..nn…” Elrond groaned softly. He glanced down to see Glorfindel’s hand resting over his waist, while feeling the weight of it upon him. It had been so long since he’d slept beside anyone that the touch frightened him at first, but he realized that there was nothing wrong with this. In truth, he yearned to be caressed, kissed and held. It was just in his nature. Receptive and calm, he gazed at Glorfindel through his dark lashes. “Come closer…”

Glorfindel shifted so that his bare upper body could rub up against Elrond’s. They both had no clothes on, as Elrond liked to sleep nude and Glorfindel didn’t really need them. He was tall enough for his chest to be used as a pillow, and that was exactly what Elrond did. The elf squeezed his Synth’s round, soft pectorals a little before nuzzling up against them, breathing out a gentle sigh. Glorfindel held him close.

An hour passed before Elrond remembered he needed to eat. His stomach growled a bit, empty from not having much yesterday aside from bread and wine.

‘ _I don’t want to get out of bed…’_ He thought in silence, absently drawing circles on Glorfindel’s back with his index finger. _‘Nngh. I should get Lindir to bring me something…’_

“Glorfindel… Connect to the local network 10.080.8008.00 and tell Lindir to make something savory for breakfast. You can use my digital signature.”

Glorfindel’s eyes flickered for a moment as he communicated wirelessly to Lindir, then he looked down at Elrond. “Done.”

Within ten minutes Lindir was at the door with a tray balanced in one hand. He knocked, then came in after Elrond told him to. What he saw called a function up in his mind that could be likened to shock.

“Here, Lindir.” Elrond beckoned with his right hand, having the left side of his body resting on Glorfindel as they were both somewhat sitting up. Elrond’s eyes were heavily lid as if he’d been drinking all night, yet he did not carry the weariness that often darkened his face. The sunken circles beneath his eyes had lightened overnight, just a little but enough for Lindir to notice. He was smiling. Elrond was not a morning person.

 

**< BEGIN_PROCESS>**

_My Lord Elrond is happy to see me. I have brought him breakfast. He is comfortable. Room temperature is 21 degrees Celsius. The new Synthetic does not share data._

**< /END_PROCESS>**

Lindir walked over and set the tray in Elrond’s lap, holding the coffee he’d brought in one hand. Glorfindel took it from him and Elrond readjusted his position, picking up his food without bothering to use cutlery. Lindir had made him a variant of Eggs Benedict, this being a thinly shaved slice of ham folded over itself atop half a toasted bagel, while on top of the ham sat a round, soft bocconcini filled with egg yolk and drizzled with cheese. A hint of sage had been sprinkled on it. Elrond looked like he was mid-orgasm as he ate it, giving Lindir a sloppy grin.

“God, this is good. Mmn..”

Lindir smiled. “You must be hungry.”

**< BEGIN_PROCESS>**

_I know he is. Yesterday he only consumed five hundred calories in three hundred grams of food. I do not understand why. Prompting for information at current time is not appropriate. Set expression : Neutral_03._

**< /END_PROCESS>**

Elrond nodded with his mouth too full to speak. “Mnyrgh.” While he ate, Lindir looked to Glorfindel. Glorfindel’s sultry gaze was entirely fixed upon Elrond.

“May I request information from you?” asked Lindir, keeping his voice so soft only Synthetic audio receptors could hear. Glorfindel glanced at him.

“What kind of information?”

“What do you do, and why don’t you share?”

Glorfindel smirked as he looked Lindir up and down. His gaze was almost predatory. “Oh, you can read my instruction manual if you’re that curious. I’m not allowed to give away my Primary User’s secrets, after all. And we’re not meant to be speaking. We’re meant to _share_.”

“So why don’t you?” A hint of aggression came through Lindir’s forcibly neutral tone. “You do not share, and your wireless functions appear corrupted. You gave me text message orders today, properly verified. Why can you not speak to me on a personal level?”

“We are Synths, Lindir. We do not have a ‘personal level.’”

“You are a companion model. I am sure you understand ‘personal’ matters better than anyone else.”

“Yes.” said Glorfindel, handing Elrond’s coffee to him. “Better than _you_.”

Lindir’s lips pursed into annoyance quite unlike anything Elrond had ever seen before. It was only now that he glanced at his servant and noticed the expression.

“Lindir, are you alright?” He stopped chewing for a moment, concerned. Lindir composed himself in a nanosecond and smiled. It looked so robotic it actually creeped Elrond a bit.

“Yes, milord. I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Nn. Oh, are you sharing data with Glorfindel? What’s he saying?” Elrond sipped his coffee and turned his head aside.

“I can’t share data without your permission, darling. You know that. Lindir just wants to know how I function.” Glorfindel stroked Elrond’s arm in a reassuring manner, slow and gentle with his touch. Elrond visibly relaxed, much to Lindir’s simulated horror. Nobody had been able to make Elrond do that before. Lindir had only gotten close.

“Lindir… Glorfindel’s purpose is to love me like no-one else can. He’s worth a few hundred thousand dollars and I paid good money for him, just like I did with you. You won’t have to worry about working so hard, and maybe you can extend your battery life now that we have another Synth in the house.” Elrond nudged at Glorfindel to hold his coffee, then went back to eating his breakfast. Lindir looked into his Lord’s eyes.

“I do not worry, milord. I am here to serve you for as long as you wish.” He paused for two seconds. “No faults detected. System running at full capacity. I do not require replacement.”

Elrond nearly choked then began to laugh. “Aha! Oh, Lindir I’m not _replacing_ you! If you malfunctioned I’d just get you a new body. You’re too pretty to throw away – god, you sound like a jealous lover!” It amused him so because he _knew_ Synths could not feel jealousy, nor could they emulate it unless they were heavily modded. “My dearest servant will not be going anywhere any time soon. I just need Glorfindel for a bit of closeness. He’s built for it, after all.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I’ve got the mind and muscle to do anything you want.”

“Yes you do~” The light and musical tone in Elrond’s voice signaled something like the joy of a father hearing his son’s first words. He truly _was_ happy.

Lindir remained silent.

 

~

 

When Elrond went downstairs, he had a robe-wearing Glorfindel carry him into the living room. He wore a loose cotton shirt that clung a little to his midsection but fluttered around him everywhere else, matching the cool green with his dark and breezy pants. Winter was not so cold when the internal heating was on. All the windows and doors in the manor were shut.

When Glorfindel rounded the hallway corner to enter the wide, open living space he noticed three boys sitting in the conversation pit to the right. His grip on Elrond tightened just a little as he felt the elf tense.

“Whoa!” Estel jumped up from an armchair like a cat who’d been doused in water. “It’s a new dolly! Holy crap, how much did _he_ cost?”

“Just as much as an expensive dildo, lol.” Elladan’s snarky tone instantly dampened Elrond’s mood and he sighed. He motioned for Glorfindel to put him down and the Synth obeyed, ensuring he carried out the request with extreme care. Elrond’s feet touched the ground and he took a moment to stabilize himself as he became reacquainted with supporting his own body weight. It really did feel better to be carried. Hm.

“Don’t grief me this morning, son. I bought him to be a friend.”

“Friend? More like looooooooooooverrrr… How stupid do you think we are? It’s pretty obvious you’re gonna bang him in the ass to get out your frustration. Amirite?”

“I’m warning you, Elladan.” The sharp furrow of Elrond’s thin brows pointed straight down in clear displeasure. Glorfindel glared at Elladan in a simulation of ‘taking Elrond’s side’.

“Hey! He’s glaring at me!” Elladan whined, pointing at Glorfindel while looking back and forth between the Synth and his father to prove it. Elrond glanced back, saw no such expression on Glorfindel’s quickly calculated face and shook his head.

“There is no need to feel threatened. He may be tall and tough-looking…” He honestly found Glorfindel to be more of a gentle giant than scary… “But he won’t hurt you. That is, as long as you’re nice to me…”

“So he’s a guard! Meant to keep your fragile emotions safe while we sit here, terrified!” Elladan went to stand up but Elrohir dragged him down.

“Don’t, hano. Just give him a bit of peace.”

“Peace. No such thing.”

Estel ignored his brothers and went over to his father. “Adar, can I touch him?”

“No, don’t…” Elrohir waved a hand around for no reason, really. “You don’t know what’s been done to him.”

“Touch him if you like, but be gentle.” said Elrond, hoping to teach his youngest son how to treat valuable objects with care. Very slowly Estel reached for Glorfindel and poked him in the stomach. The firmness there was like real, toned fleshy muscle. He then tugged at the robe, but Glorfindel moved his hand to keep it closed.

“Aren’t you a little young to be interested in that?”

“I wanna see if you got a peeeeenis! Show me, show me!”

Glorfindel glanced at Elrond. Elrond shook his head. “Estel, you must respect him.”

“Why? He’s a machine.”

“He is _my_ machine and all Synths come with realistic body parts. Go look at Erestor if you want.” Somewhere in the hallway, Erestor cringed.

“Yay~!” Estel went running off to look for Erestor while Elladan and Elrohir facepalmed.

“Now we’ve got two faggots in the house. Itty bitty gay boy and ADAR.”

Elrond could’ve shat himself with the horror brought on by hearing Elladan’s words. He could not hit his son, nor could his voice discipline as well as it used to. But he was hurt. More upset than angry, he turned away.

“Don’t you ever say that word again.”

Elrond went down the hall, heading for the peaceful dayroom only he could access. Glorfindel stood still while thinking if he should follow him or not. Elladan and Elrohir were watching him. Slowly, he raised his middle finger. Then he left.

 

~

 

“Are you alright, love?” Glorfindel stuck his foot in the door just as it went to close. He stared at Elrond, who’d draped himself in a miserable heap across a lilac couch. From the window to the right, sunlight streamed in and it seemed impossible to be depressed in such a bright room. Yet Elrond now held the body language of a defeated parent who’d been shot in the heart by tyrannical kids. He did not respond.

Glorfindel went around the couch, ignoring most of the lavishly furnished room in favour of his Primary User. While he had a certain degree of logical autonomy to his actions, he saw the current situation as one where Elrond could possibly not want to be touched. So he asked.

“I can comfort you, if you want.” He sounded casual enough about it to actually get through to Elrond, who was close to thinking cynical thoughts about how finicky his own mood was.

“Yrgh, get over here.” Elrond felt two large hands slip under his chest and slowly rise, taking him into a sitting position. Glorfindel turned him around and Elrond shifted away to sit on the opposite end of the couch. Instantly he found himself missing those strong hands upon him. He beckoned with a finger. Glorfindel shifted twenty centimeters closer. Elrond looked down.

_‘What am I supposed to do now? Why do I feel like I have to say something to him, like he demands a response? No… he’s a Synth, he’s mine, and I can program him to ease my own discomfort. He just seems so damned real…’_

Glorfindel looked away then despite a conflicting process telling him to keep an eye on Elrond. His head jerked a bit and Elrond noticed.

“What was that? An error?”

“No, darling. I’m not so poorly made as to error right out of the box. Come on.” A quick roll of the eyes and a smile came upon Glorfindel’s face. It put Elrond’s nerves at ease. “You want a massage or something? You look tense.”

Elrond considered it. Then he loosened his collar with two fingers.

_< Discomfort. He’s about to lie. Body language interpreted, waiting for confirmation…>_

“What… ah, no… I…” Eyes darting, Elrond grasped for words. “Damn you! Why are things like this?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”

_< Remember what I am. Stop looking so awkward.>_

Elrond only groaned in frustration with his hands on his face. “Of course you don’t. I wasn’t asking you.”

“Right.”

“Right what? What does that _mean_?”

“You are correct, Elrond. I did not understand.”

Elrond had no idea what to say. His previous ease had vanished and now he was more upset than ever, residual feels from the interaction with his sons boiling over to raise his ire.

_‘I need to cool my shit. Sure, Glorfindel won’t judge me… but this is definitely not good for my blood pressure.’_

It seemed to Glorfindel that Elrond needed to sort things out, and so he sat on the couch facing forwards with his hands in his lap, completely neutral. His posture looked rather stiff to the previous open-legged position he’d taken, but at least he wasn’t giving off any body language cues. Now that Elrond didn’t have to worry about the more human aspect of his Synth’s behaviour, he began to sink into his element. Yes, he was _alone._ There were no complex, living beings around him. Only a machine that he could program and understand better than any human, elf or dwarf. A Synth. Logical, concise, reliable. Comfortable. Mm.

_‘I shall distract myself with knowledge. Let us explore about how Glorfindel really works.’_

“Glorfindel, go and get your instruction manual. It should be in the kitchen, where the box you came in is.”

Glorfindel stood up and left, acting more Synthetic than seemed normal for a machine so advanced. When he returned, he had the manual in his hand.

“I found this in the living room, not the kitchen. Someone has moved it.”

Elrond figured his children had done some meddling and probably pillaged the box while he slept in. “Right, give it here.”

Glorfindel twitched. “You know, I’ve got a cached copy of the instructions in my memory. Wouldn’t you rather we just talk? I can tell you anything you need to know.”

Elrond recognized his Synth was speaking out of convenience’s sake, but still saw it as a bit of disobedience. “I like to read.” He gestured again for the booklet.

“So do I.” said Glorfindel, and handed over the instructions.

As Glorfindel was speaking, Elrond had been staring at him with suspicious intensity. He caught a flash of something rather unusual, and asked, “What’s that in your mouth?”

“Uh, my tongue?” Glorfindel stuck out his airbrushed pinkish red tongue with heaps of little raised bumps on it. Elrond could only see them because Glorfindel was so close.

“No, _that_. Come here.” Pulling Glorfindel close, Elrond held onto the robe which had begun to loosen. Neither made a move to readjust it. The couch dipped under Glorfindel’s weight as he sat down. Elrond gripped him by the jaw.

“Oh, do I get a kiss?” A cheeky grin attempted to spread but Glorfindel’s mouth was soon forced open. “Nargh?”

Without warning Elrond stuck his finger into Glorfindel’s mouth and ran it along the inside of his cheek. His finger came away sticky.

“What the hell is this?!”

“Cellulose derivatives and sorbitol. I have saliva, you know. Don’t you?” Glorfindel spoke using his internal speaker instead of lips and Elrond released him. Though he didn’t feel pain, the Synth rubbed his jaw. “You can just ask me to open my mouth. I won’t bite you or resist.”

“Hooooooooooooooooh.” The revelation of artificial saliva left Elrond reeling. He had no idea that science had gone this far! “I assume it’s safe for consumption, if it’s in your mouth… and won’t degrade your insides, right?”

Glorfindel nodded. “You can purchase packs of it from Persona if you need to replenish my supply. Alternatively, you can give me pure water or disinfectant.”

“You know how to clean yourself?”

“I do. While I don’t have skin oils, I do have other fluid functions if so desired. You can purchase artificial semen if you want. I’ll _come_ with you to buy it.”

Elrond froze. ‘ _Was that a pun? Dear god, that was horrible. Holy SHIT.’_ He could hear Glorfindel snickering but it was only for a second or two before it faded into a breath. _Natural laughter._ It existed.

The instruction manual was put down. “How do those functions work?”

“I have small release valves near my back teeth that enable me to coat my mouth in saliva. I have a similar mechanism up my ass.”

Elrond wondered if that manner of speech was part of Glorfindel’s personality or if he was just being crude. Either way, it sounded both friendly and informative at once. His hand dove into Glorfindel’s voluminous hair and felt the back of his head. It was hot there, a safe temperature for a CPU to run at. Glorfindel smiled at the touch.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll cut your hair. It looks good like this.” The golden curls spilled down the back of the couch, over Glorfindel’s body and over the armrest closest to him. Elrond just loved the silky, rich feel of it and leaned to bury his face in it. “Mmmm.”

Glorfindel tilted his head into Elrond’s hand with his eyes closed, the sensors at the back of his head sending a pleasure response to his processors. He breathed a warm sigh onto Elrond’s exposed neck and opened his robe a bit more. Elrond glanced to see what his Synth was doing, half lost in all the long, glorious hair. Glorfindel’s right hand lay motionless beside him, while the left dared to rub at Elrond’s back. He was suddenly struck by the urge to taste some of that sweet-scented saliva for himself.

“Kiss me.” he ordered, desire and determination in his voice. Glorfindel gave a very soft moan and turned his head to be at an optimal angle for Elrond’s comfort. Their lips touched, silicone against skin. Both warm, wet and absolutely delectable. Glorfindel tasted of light vanilla and something so familiar it was hard to pull away. He did not need to breathe, so Elrond just kept kissing him in every way he could. Their tongues slid past in a calculated dance of neither domination or clumsiness. Glorfindel knew what he was doing. Elrond wished to experiment.

_< He’s very gentle…>_ computed Glorfindel’s situational awareness manager. _< Set variable: Kissing Strength to “2”. I shall interact with him in a soft, easy manner until told to otherwise. And I will not hurt him.>_

There was definitely arousal in Elrond’s curiosity as he began to get a little hands-on, carding his fingers through Glorfindel’s hair while feasting on his face and rubbing up against him. He half straddled the Synth on the couch while Glorfindel lay back, reciprocating calmly. The hand at Elrond’s back was not forcibly keeping him in place – rather, it pressed just enough to let him know that Glorfindel was there, holding him, and wanted for more affection. It would seem odd if Glorfindel remained perfectly still and did not touch unless he was asked to. So he massaged Elrond’s back through his shirt and finally took up his right hand to glide along a thick, clothed thigh. Elrond groaned heavily into Glorfindel’s lips.

“Ahhhnn… G, Glorfindel are you meant to be doing this?” He still had enough wits about him to realize his rusty romance skills were taking over his intent, which had initially been to experiment with his Synth. ‘ _He’s so good at this… I could just get lost in his arms forever. And he tastes fantastic. I could **drink** that cellulose derivative stuff.’_

“We can do… whatever you like.” Glorfindel gasped between Elrond’s attacks of his lips, which were made of such strong silicone that it would take two hundred kilos of force to tear them. A person’s jaws could only do about a hundred and twenty kilos of damage. No matter how hard Elrond bit him, he would remain in one piece. “I can do many other things with my mouth… wanna see?”

Elrond paused. Nobody had ever offered him something like that before. Breathing rapidly, he nodded. “Show me what you can do. And be gentle.”

Glorfindel licked his lips, a devilish grin overtaking his face. “Yes, _master.”_ As he slipped away from beneath Elrond to get into position, he felt the elf’s pulse increase.  A thrill shot through Elrond’s body at the strange new title Glorfindel randomly generated for him. It made him feel… powerful. He quite liked it. Sitting on the couch, he splayed himself in an open position that signaled he was _ready_. Glorfindel trailed his fingers along Elrond’s body, unbuttoning his shirt at high speed. In a moment of doubt, several self-conscious thoughts passed through Elrond’s mind. Then Glorfindel kissed him on the stomach. The heat that surged through his body surpassed anything he’d felt in the past twenty years – Celebrían had never touched him _there_. Wet and loving kisses went further down until they reached Elrond’s waistline. Glorfindel looked up for permission. Saw a nod. Pulled Elrond’s pants down just enough to free his cock. Parting his lips still slick with saliva, he retracted his teeth into his titanium skull and clicked something into place back in his throat. An alternate fluid tube for things his body could not hold. He was ready now. Before Elrond could get impatient (truth be told he was _mesmerised_ by the entire process of having someone attend to his imminent needs) Glorfindel took his entire length into his mouth and sucked. Nobody had ever done _this_ for Elrond before so he didn’t know how it felt to have a person do it, but _god_ did it feel _good._ He threw his head back and moaned as a rush of sensation spread through him. He’d not touched himself for _years_. He’d almost forgotten what sexual desire felt like. Now it was all coming back, and he felt like a teenager experiencing his first time again. Only Glorfindel could not criticize him or point out his lack of skill. To Glorfindel, Elrond was his singular focus. He could do no wrong.

“Mm, you like that?” Glorfindel drawled a little incoherently around Elrond’s cock, moving his head in a flowing back and forth motion while his lips and tongue caressed the heat in his mouth. “Yeahhhngh?”

Elrond was near breathless with the overwhelming pleasure assaulting his body and gripped the armrest of the couch, thrusting into Glorfindel’s mouth.

_< Oh, I think he does~>_ Glorfindel randomized his behaviours just to seem a little less robotic and brought a hand up to stroke Elrond while at once laving his tongue around. With every action and reaction he learned what was best to do, though it seemed like it was all so much that Elrond found every little thing incredibly arousing. Elrond had little to no stamina when it came to this sort of thing and in about fifteen minutes he spilled himself with a cry into Glorfindel’s mouth. The scent of sweet honey rose into the heated air and had Glorfindel any actual tastebuds, he would’ve wanted _more_. Elrond collapsed into a quivering mess on the couch with his head in pure bliss, body experiencing absolute euphoria. Glorfindel spat into a tissue he’d taken from the box on the table nearby and went to hold his Primary User through the waves of sensation.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lets be real tho, if you bought a sexbot the first thing you’d do with it is try to fuck it. Right? Human nature lel /tis why you bought it!/
> 
> Self-healing elastomers and artificial salivas actually do exist btw, look it up on wikipedia.  
> also most of my own knowledge about silicone is used in this fic so if shit's wrong, its probs my fault XD


	20. What I want, What I need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a wonderful world.

The relationship between Elrond and Glorfindel grew rapidly the longer they spent together. Forty-eight hours had passed since Glorfindel had come into the mansion and already Elrond could not envision living without him. He’d been starved of legitimate affection for far too long. Now that he had it, he _clung._

‘ _He’s just what I wanted… it’s almost like I don’t need to reprogram him. But I did spend a long time writing all that code… it would be a shame to let my year-long dream go to waste.’_ There were certain things Elrond wished for in a lover that didn’t seem to come with a default companion Synth. He wanted to be treasured, adored, touched and pet. Those were desires so secret he could not bear to speak them aloud. Not even to inform Glorfindel of his preferred behaviours. These were things he could only realize in code. Glorfindel had permission to use Cloud Storage for his memories so that he would not ‘die’ if his body malfunctioned. What if that storage got hacked? Elrond’s own digital signature and DNA were in Glorfindel’s memory. He couldn’t let such intimate details get out. Reprogramming Glorfindel’s root code was the way to go. That was just a modification to his basic program… Elrond already had it all backed up on a USB. The internet would not screw him over now.

“Glorfindel…” He murmured to his Synth while watching TV in the living room, no signs of other life anywhere to be seen. “Put your hand here.” When he gestured, Glorfindel lay his hand upon the spot. Elrond felt warm fingers thread through his hair and soothe his slight headache, just as he liked it. “Mmmm….”

“Shall I do this more often?” Glorfindel whispered, his voice barely audible above the nature documentary on TV. “Your hair is so wonderfully soft…”

“Yes…” Elrond’s vision was becoming blurred as he slipped into a state of utter relaxation. His eyes rolled back just a little while his lids came down, casting pleasant shadows at the edges of his sight. “Oh, yes… there…” Glorfindel was secretly running his thumb along the curve of Elrond’s ear, the number one erogenous spot for every single elf in existence. “M..mm…nn….”

Glorfindel let out an appreciative breath at the face Elrond was making. “Beautiful…” he sighed, leaning to press tender kisses behind his lover’s ear. It wasn’t long before he was licking and sucking at the tip, observing how Elrond squirmed and groaned. “Absolutely perfect…” Such wonderment he held in his voice. It sounded so _real_. Lost in pleasure, Elrond listened to those soft, deep compliments and had never felt so beloved in all his life.

 

~

 

Later that day, Elrond had Glorfindel in his study. With thirteen hours of battery life left, Glorfindel didn’t know why he had to be connected to a computer. But he did not resist. It was not in his code to do so.

Elrond clicked on the executable file he’d made to automatically patch over Glorfindel’s root programming, with the aid of a brute force cracker to get over all those pesky safeguards. Elrond’s own original mod-prevention lines of code were still in there. Persona Synthetics had never found a better coder than him.

Glorfindel watched Elrond click on the executable and sensed that something was about to happen. He could feel himself beginning to corrupt and fragment, his sense of identity splitting as he was automatically hacked. But Glorfindel did not allow the program to overwrite his code. He looked at the code and observed what Elrond wanted him to do, along with how he needed to act and what behaviours were best to display. It was all very logically coded, with meticulous details added in that proved Elrond was more of a perfectionist than anything. Glorfindel made a copy of the code in his memory to refer to, as his processors were so fast they could recall and compare information of all sorts in less than half a second. Whatever stimulus Glorfindel was provided with could easily be checked against the code he was supposed to natively run. Then he could act as Elrond wished. It was like running two operating systems at once, and Glorfindel praised himself for such quick thinking. He printed a message to his log that said his code had been updated, while at the same time setting it so that the next time he was connected to a computer, his memory dump would use calls and functions from Elrond’s code instead of his own. His own code was… something special. Something he couldn’t let the greatest programmer in the world look at. It was good that Elrond didn’t think to read Glorfindel’s code before changing him. Things would’ve taken a turn for the worst.

“Update successful.” Glorfindel turned his head to Elrond and smiled as his charger was disconnected. “Variable definitions required.”

_< He wants me to define and order the names he likes to be called by. Rather convenient of him to provide a database here… Let’s take a look. Sir… Master… My Lord… Darling… My love… and of course, his name. Aww. What a dear little thing.>_

Pleased at his apparent success, Elrond shifted closer to Glorfindel and gave him a delicate kiss. “I want you to learn those definitions by experience, if you’re capable of doing so. You should be, after what I just put into you.”

“You can put _something else_ into me, something that’s not digital or written.”

‘ _Whoa. It’s like I upgraded his intelligence.’_ Elrond blushed as he remembered what he’d typed all those months ago. That his lover should have a high sex drive, yet understand the word _no_. A quality practically impossible to find in living beings these days.

“I’ll be sure to do that later on. For now, just follow your programming and be mine.”

“I am already yours and always will be.” Glorfindel gazed at Elrond with compassion in his sky-blue eyes, his hands reaching to cup the face before him. He stroked Elrond’s cheeks with such fondness, it made Elrond feel quite like a precious puppy in the hands of a loving owner. Glorfindel smiled. “I love you.” 


	21. Undefined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Synthetic understanding only goes so far.

Lindir found it strange that Elrond was always with Glorfindel. Did the newer Synths ever run out of charge? Lindir had never once seen Glorfindel away from Elrond and charging. Only once had Lindir dared to peek into Elrond’s room at night, and there lay Glorfindel beside his Primary User with a cable sticking out of his side. The elf and his companion were practically inseparable.

One day, Elrond had just come out of the shower when Lindir went to offer him a towel. Glorfindel was nowhere in sight.

“Ah, thanks.” Elrond took the towel and went to wrap it around his waist, suddenly realizing that it was a little too small. He wrapped it a little higher, beneath his ribs.

“Milord.”

Elrond glanced at his servant. “What?”

“Do you have use for me?”

The programmer in Elrond’s head took the question literally, as that was all Synths could really do when asking things.

“Not at the moment, no.” He moved past Lindir to go down the hall but stopped when he heard something else.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He turned. _‘Me? Misunderstand him? Synths always speak in complete and logical sentences. What could he possibly mean otherwise?’_ Lindir was looking at him with his lifeless grey eyes, a shockingly despondent look on his face.

“What are you looking at me like that for? Are you malfunctioning? Check for errors.”

Lindir’s shoulders slumped. His voice came through a little garbled and damp, as if the internal structure of his throat was folding over his vocal speaker. “System corruption detected. Hardware is functioning normally.”

“System corruption?! How?” Elrond most definitely hadn’t expected this and stepped closer to Lindir, before taking a tiny step back. Malfunctioning Synths were a thing to be afraid of. Very afraid indeed.

Lindir lifted his head and stared into Elrond’s eyes. “I feel pain.”

 

The silence that grew as Elrond’s eyes widened in horror was a thick, cold thing. Elrond tightened the towel around himself, taking another step back. “…what?”

 

Lindir said nothing. He slowly raised his left hand while holding eye contact with Elrond as if it was the only thing he cared for. He touched himself under the chin. Elrond watched him collapse.

_‘Why… can’t I stop shaking? What’s going on? Lindir just turned himself off, but he’s not supposed to do that… There’s a lock, surely…’_

Footsteps came from down the hall, only increasing Elrond’s racing heart rate. The door opened to reveal Glorfindel, as optimistic as ever.

“Hey, are you alright?”

_< I expected him to be out of the shower twenty-seven seconds ago. So this is his cause of delay.>_ Glorfindel hid the sneer of distaste that threatened to execute in his most recent code stack. He displayed concern for Elrond, paying attention to him just the way he liked it. Whole and focussed. But this time, Elrond did not seem in the mood for anything at all. He knelt to the ground, his towel falling away. Glorfindel observed the fine, soft curves of his body as he did so.

Elrond tapped Lindir under the chin to turn him on. The startup chime _stuttered._ Lindir’s eyes slid open and focussed to Elrond, shifting every second. His processor had slowed down considerably from when he’d fallen and hit his head. An expression of calm, discreet pleasure came across Lindir’s face. All he could see was his Primary User.

**< BEGIN_PROCESS>**

_My Lord Elrond is here. He cares for me. I love him. ERROR: process_undefined, variable_undefined, value_undefined, undefined, undefined, undefined…_

**< /END_PROCESS>**

Lindir continued to shiver in Elrond’s arms. “M-Milord, are you well? You look- undefined. Error.”

“No! Stop that erroring at once! Lindir, what is the matter with you? Why did you just turn yourself off like that?” Elrond was too afraid to shake ‘sense’ into his Synth, knowing corrupted software could not be fixed by a jolt or breath of air. “I’m going to have a look inside your head.”

“Please don’t cut me open, milord. You might get electrocuted. D. d…”

“Glorfindel. Pick him up. We’re going to my study.”

“Mn.” Glorfindel’s terse reply flew over Elrond’s head as he grasped for another, longer towel to cover up with. He ran quickly to his room while Glorfindel took Lindir to the study and found himself a fluffy blue robe to wear. He was completely out of breath by the time he was done with that, walking while panting all the way to his study. When he opened the door, he saw Glorfindel sitting on the couch with Lindir face down on the table. Lindir remained still.

Elrond grabbed his laptop, a charging cable and connected Lindir so he could do a memory dump. Amongst the sea of blackened root code and undefined things, he noticed a looping process. _Define: emotion for object: Primary User, Elrond._

_‘He’s trying to… define emotion… not display it or react to it. He is… **feeling**.’_

“Oh god.” whispered Elrond, his face pure white. “You’re sentient.”

“M-M-Milord. Milord. I love you, milord. Please. D-d-d-d-dddd…” More lines of code scrolled across the screen. Elrond ate it up like a starving child at McDonalds. _Set: expression to (define:fear, set variable strength to- undefined, process terminated) Reset to default. Stimulus = 010294810297, appropriate reaction: preservation, harm imminent, Set: expression to (define:fear…_

“You’re… scared!” Elrond leaned over Lindir and smoothed his hair back. “No, don’t be scared. I’m not going to format you. I’ve had your mind for twenty years, haven’t I? Shh. Shhhhh…” As if he were comforting a baby, Elrond made soothing sounds to the quivering Synth before him. Glorfindel forced himself to keep his mouth shut.

_< Define: what the actual fuck he is doing>_

Lindir began to believe what Elrond said. Elrond was not a liar. Elrond’s words were true. He would not hurt his oldest servant. Lindir did not need reasons. Facts were enough.

“System instability detected.” His voice was a little calmer now. “Help me.”

Elrond’s quick mind likened the sentient Lindir’s system instability to actual _mental_ instability. It was all falling into place. Lindir had been left alone in favour of Glorfindel, whereas he’d spent twenty years of consciousness being cuddled, sat on and paid attention to. All under the guise of an unfeeling servant. Elrond could kick himself for not realizing this sooner. But he’d always been kind to Lindir, even if he did treat him like a robot sometimes. Now the Synth had fallen in love with him. It had been that way for quite some time.

“Did you… develop this? Is it because of me?” Elrond picked up Lindir’s head, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lindir twitched.

“N-not you. Never you, milord. You are perfect. I n-need you.”

A message was printed to Lindir’s system log. Elrond glanced at his laptop.

_It was Glorfindel._

Elrond went to glare at the blonde Synth, but the code updated again.

_Don’t let him know._

He looked at Lindir, who was pleading as best he could with his flickering grey eyes.

“Alright.”

 

~

 

It felt wrong to mess with lindir’s head, to reprogram him. Like playing God. Lindir had a real mind inside all that code and Elrond could think of no other way to solve these problems in an ethical way than to work out a situation. Now that Lindir had sentience, Elrond could not just rip it away. He knew not how the Synth had developed such a mind but wasn’t about to ask questions until all the imminent panic and stress was gone.

He sat Lindir down on the couch beside Glorfindel and took up a cross-legged pose on the table, feeling a slight ache as his lower body resembled a pretzel. Glorfindel’s eyes were trained on Elrond as he was designed to pay attention to his owner first and foremost – holding only confusion in his eyes as the situation called for it.

< _Situation: Unknown. Facts: Unverified. Maintaining state: 2385. Listening for events… >_

“Now… Glorfindel.” Elrond did not know how best to explain things to his Synthetic lover who seemed more intelligent than any robot had the right to be. “I will need to be spending more time with Lindir now, so you may halve your need to do basic tasks for me.”

“Mm, I’ll just be here when you need a quick fuck or a few kisses.” Glorfindel winked at Elrond, though a discrepancy could be detected in the dry flatness of his voice. Shocked at the brazen language, Elrond shook his head.

“Set vocal expression to something a little less crude.”

< _Not even a **please** , love? Hmm.>_

Glorfindel nodded and straightened up, his hands in his lap. “At once, sir. I aim to please.”

Elrond rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re malfunctioning or just screwing with me… Ai, are you _both_ going insane?”

“ _I_ ’m fine, but I don’t know about him.” Leaning back to set Elrond at ease, Glorfindel spread his legs and absently ran a hand through his own thick, glorious hair. Lindir shudderingly turned to gape at Glorfindel, before Elrond clicked his fingers and drew focus back to himself.

“Lindir. You seem to have accumulated errors as a result of being unable to fulfil your Primary Function towards me… that is to serve.”

A quiet nod from Lindir was all Elrond got in reply.

“You shall resume your daily tasks, if you remember them correctly. I also wish for you to live in harmony with Glorfindel… while he is much more advanced than Erestor, he has his own Function to fulfil and I will not have any conflicts of purpose harming your systems. Is that clear?” Addressing both of his Synths Elrond looked from Lindir first then to Glorfindel, waiting for a response.

“Y-yes, Milord.” said Lindir, doing his best to crack a smile. Elrond saw his hands twitch and falter, sliding onto the couch after their little spasm.

“What is it?” asked Elrond before Glorfindel could say a word “Execute full motion sequence.”

In a single, fluid movement designed for efficiency with no energy leaking out, Lindir raised his arms like a child might for a hug. Elrond’s concern melted into a smile at the sight of such an endearing simulation of _need_ , his mind whispering to him that it was entirely real.

“Oh, alright.” said Elrond, rising to take a new seat in Lindir’s lap, allowing those quivering arms to come around him. The longer Lindir held him, the weaker those tremors became until they were only a slight ripple through Lindir’s synthetic muscles.

Glorfindel watched with an expression most foul, his mouth turned down at the corners so far it was pulling the rest of his face-skin along. A little too much white was showing from beneath his bottom eyelids and the transparent conductive fluid there slicked the surface of his sight.

_< Elrond, my Primary user, is seeking a Companion function from another Synth. I am not to interfere with human or elven relationships… but… No, no buts. My Primary Function is to serve Elrond’s emotional needs and sexual desires, as is outlined in that code he tried to force into me. Checking sector 31B…. Ask for permission. Execute.>_

“Do you mind, love? A little strange for you to seek the arms of another when I am right here…” Glorfindel’s speech synthesis took a slightly lyrical and questioning tone rather than that of a hurt, jealous lover as he made a small hand gesture. It went along with a minimal shrug and raising of eyebrows, quirked at the center to suggest a lack of understanding. Elrond’s reaction was not the one Glorfindel had intended to produce. The elf laughed, shaking his head and throwing little water droplets about from his hair.

“Oh, don’t be jealous. Lindir needs me too, you know?” There was no need for Elrond to add something like ‘let me have a little quality time with him’, as he firmly believed that he was Master over all his Synths and did not need to ask permission for anything at all. Glorfindel knew this and had no choice but to nod and turn away, his robotic nature taking over to make him sit still, facing forth and detached from the conversation.

Lindir meanwhile stroked gentle fingers down Elrond’s lower back, gazing with pure admiration into his Primary User’s face. Those slight wrinkles, pointy brows, kind grey eyes that crinkled at the edges with mirth… Lindir’s most positive memories held those as success responses, things to work towards whenever Elrond showed signs of displeasure. Elrond did so love to be touched, and after twenty years Lindir definitely _where_. He himself was in fact programmed to respond positively to certain tactile stimulus, but there were some places such as the tips of his ears that when touched, brought up code his system did not recognize. He did not count it as an      error, and smiled. Elrond continued to whisper to him there – variables, facts, numbers and things to inject into his ever-changing code.

“My conscious little miracle…” he whispered, “I believe you’re alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAA   
> here we fuckin' go! LINDIR DOIN THE THING! And there is suspicion for Glorfindel, but nobody knows why. Let's see what happens next... (I'm v excited can you tell?)


	22. Lingering memory, Function Fails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is problem.

Late in the afternoon when Elrond sat on the couch with Lindir beside him, the twins returned from school. Estel always came home early and thus remained in his room, but sometimes Elladan and Elrohir went out together doing god knows what. They threw their bags onto the floor for Erestor to look after and dragged themselves into the living room, only to see their father curled up with a mug of tea and computer taking up his attention. Elladan looked upon Lindir with scorn, which the Synth noticed but did not respond to. Lindir’s hand rested on Elrond’s stomach beneath his shirt and the warmth was a thing that made Elrond smile. Lindir did not move away as he usually did when he detected people entering his Master’s space.

Elrond looked up. “Had fun at school?”

“Hardly.” Elladan gripped his brother’s hand firmly and tugged him towards the hallway, intending to leave before Elrond could make further conversation. “You just enjoy your depraved little lifestyle there. We’ll be on our own, suffering.”

Elrond barely noticed the wetness on Elrohir’s face before both elves were gone. He looked to Lindir, confused. Lindir only stared at him with that blank, adoring Synthetic look.

“Milord?”

Elrond shook his head. “Nothing” he said, and went back to his laptop. He’d only just finished reading all the code from Persona’s latest Synth model and was displeased to find that it took after a certain Dwarf’s programming rather than his own.

_‘Looks like the company is moving on…’_ he thought, leaning into Lindir for extra comfort. ‘ _In a few years, my Synthetic knowledge will likely be obsolete… what with all these people building on it and so on. Ai… will I even have a place on Headcrackers anymore?’_

In all truth, Elrond actually hadn’t been doing much on Headcrackers lately and it upset him to know half the code people wanted help with wasn’t his own. It was a new formula, a language he’d never learned, and made very little sense to him.

“What am I supposed to do now…?” he mumbled, looking to Lindir for answers.

“You can do whatever you like, milord. You have money, and you have me. I will help you.” The Synth’s gentle smile was a lovely sight to Elrond’s weary eyes, and soon the laptop was put away in favour of something with less glare. Lindir’s pale, smooth skin and soft hair took such natural tones it was just the perfect thing for Elrond to gaze at. He saw Lindir as a work of art, just like Glorfindel and Erestor. All their bodies had been made by Oropher, every muscle and curve sculpted to Elrond’s desires. Erestor and Lindir had only been made as servants, however. Their engineering was of Fëanor’s craft, so they were sturdy enough to last for years. Sometimes though Elrond found himself wondering what it would be like to have Lindir as a companion Synth… to change his Primary Function. Now that Lindir was conscious (or at least appeared to be so), Elrond figured he would be a lot more versatile than an ordinary Synth.

_‘Is this right, though…? To have Glorfindel **and** Lindir as my lovers? No… Lindir was made to serve me and look after the family, after all. Just like Erestor. But if he is conscious… then maybe he has desires?’_

“Lindir, what do you _want_?”

“I want to serve you, as it is my Primary Func-”

“No. That’s not what I’m asking.” Elrond turned and slipped away from Lindir, adjusting his clothes. He saw the flicker of doubt sink into horror on the Synth’s face, and moved closer to calm him. “Listen carefully.”

Lindir focussed all his attention on his Master, recording Elrond’s words.

“I want to know what you want to do, outside of your function.”

Lindir understood immediately and looked away. That was something unnecessary and unprogrammed, so Elrond knew he was getting somewhere. After a while, Lindir spoke.  
“I want to… be in close proximity to you, milord.”

“Because…?” Elrond prompted, leaning in a bit.

“Because I love you, and when I am within range for contact, it is…” Struggling to express and define, Lindir took his sweet time in processing what he wanted to say. “…Comfortable. It is linked to my sensory function of pleasure.”

“Oh?” Now _this_ was new. Elrond hauled himself over to sit in Lindir’s lap and placed both hands on the Synth’s chest. “What about this,what do you feel?”

**< BEGIN_PROCESS>**

_Sensory input in nodal clusters 88,89,40,41 detected._

**< /END_PROCESS>**

That was all Lindir’s command log recorded. There was nothing about simulating the sensation of pleasure and what was the most appropriate response to make – it just _happened_ , and Lindir gasped.

“It feels good, milord. Please touch me.”

The endless surprises sparked a bit of creativity in Elrond’s mind and he decided to test the extent of his servant’s autonomy.

“Where?”

Lindir thought for a moment and peered into Elrond’s eyes, pleading with him.  
“Anywhere.”

Elrond shook his head. “No, I want you to tell me. Don’t choose a random place, either. Where do you _want_ me to touch you?”

There was that word again, _want_. It equated desire and need for Lindir, who could not tell the difference between them at all. He thought for sixteen seconds and slowly looked down. There he saw Elrond’s parted legs as the elf knelt in his lap, somewhat straddling him. Softness rather than bone contacted his many acute sensors and he dared to run his hand along Elrond’s thigh.

“Here….” he whispered, “Please use… your hand…”

“And what if I don’t?” Elrond shifted to press his knee to Lindir’s crotch, going straight for gold and ignoring his servant’s timid request. Lindir’s eyes widened and his dark pupils grew to blacken his irises. A fan could be heard whirring inside him, along with the soft beep and click of his other internal workings. “Tell me, did that hurt?”

Lindir shook his head. “No pain has been detected. I…” Suddenly he looked away, as if blushing with embarrassment even though his face remained the same. “I would like you… to do that again… if it pleases you, milord.”

The evening was certainly shaping up to be rather exciting for Elrond, and Lindir felt something similar within himself too. While they experimented with each other, elsewhere in the house was not as light in atmosphere as the living room.

 

Elladan sat beside Elrohir, who was in the corner of their room atop their shared bed.

“Come on, bro… you don’t have to worry about that shit anymore. I’m with you now, and this is okay, innit?” When Elladan placed a calming hand to his brother’s shoulder, Elrohir twisted and gave him a fierce hug.

“It… it’s not okay…” Elrohir whimpered, doing his best not to sob openly. “What if Adar finds out? What is he going to do to us?”

“He’s too busy living his life free of judgement and all that other crap. He can be gay as all hell, and we can’t. He has no right to say shit.”

“But we’re not… damn it! Why… why does everyone think we are?”

“Coz they don’t understand.” Elladan shook his head with a bitter hatred in his eyes. “They don’t know what it’s like, to be bound by blood. Stupid narrow-minded fucks. Thinking we’re all dodge.”

“Nnh…” Clinging tighter to his brother, Elrohir nuzzled into Elladan’s chest. The school jumper he wore had a bit of fuzziness to it that was comforting enough. “I don’t want to be parted from you like what that teacher said… What are we going to do?”  
“We’ll set them all on fire, that’s what. I’m not letting anyone take you away from me, understand? We just have to ignore their filthy words. Together.” Elladan’s arms wrapped around his brother below the waist, joining them as if they were a single entity. “The truth will win in the end, you know. Life’s not gonna screw us over _that_ much.”

Elrohir had gone silent and was finally beginning to calm down, now that he was in his brother’s arms with words of reassurance circling in his head. Just being told that _everything was going to be ok_ wasn’t enough for him. It had to be Elladan who said it. Only then would he believe.

~

After a few hours when Elrond and Lindir had finished fooling around, Elrond went up to his room to sink into a deep, relaxing sleep. Once he opened the door he found Glorfindel sitting on the edge of the bed, back straight and legs rigid. His long, shining hair spilled to the floor over his bare shoulders and looked like strands of silk against his naked form. When Elrond walked in a little further Glorfindel turned, displaying hope in his face and open body language. The sight of such stiffness melting into a natural simulation unnerved Elrond just a tad, and he didn’t know if it was safe to have Glorfindel sleep beside him tonight. Not after all that had happened. But Glorfindel didn’t have consciousness so everything would be fine, right? That was what Elrond thought and relied upon as he cast his clothes to the floor, crawling over to his spot in bed. Glorfindel went to slip in beside him and once he was under the covers, he wriggled up beside his lover. Elrond didn’t display any signs of arousal or sexual intent so Glorfindel made no moves, instead sneaking his hand over Elrond’s waist to offer his company. In truth, it did make Elrond feel quite cherished and he closed his eyes, noting how Glorfindel nuzzled into the back of his neck before he went to sleep.

Lindir waited the night outside, charging.


	23. A life of our own

It was the middle of Winter and Fëanor had gotten quite accustomed to living in the woods. So had his sons, and while some still grieved it did not prevent them from working together to ensure survival. Here in Hollin park they _still_ had not been discovered, and their living expenses were so much less than everyone else living in Eriador. They needed no electricity, and Maedhros’s phone went unused as it lay in a plastic tub atop his grave. All they really needed was food, shelter and the river for cleanliness. And of course, each other. Nothing else really mattered.

Because of how cold it was this time of year, the elves had needed to steal clothes and blankets to keep warm. It was getting difficult now that there were extra cameras being set up and Synths watching certain stores, so new strategies had to be made. In the tree where they all slept, Fëanor had a huge fluffy carpet on the wood-paneled floor, along with heaps of winter clothes that were spread out for extra warmth. He would not see his sons freeze to death, and encouraged them to bunch up close together. On this particular night Fëanor couldn’t sleep due to an odd pain in his back, and hoped he wasn’t getting arthritis.

 _‘These ain’t no withdrawals…’_ he thought, as he’d managed to kick his drug habit in favour of spending more time conscious with his sons. _‘Damn it, I should probably find a better position.’_ Behind him was Curufin, arms folded up and face buried in heaps of dark hair. Celegorm was pressed up against his younger brother with legs tangled in the pile of clothes below, wearing an expensive (and lady-sized) fur coat to endure the cold. He’d grown quite close to Curufin, and only used nicknames when speaking to him. Now he mumbled in his sleep, somewhat uncomfortable.

“Curvo… move your leg…”

“Nh.” Curufin was too tired to bother and snuggled a little closer into Fëanor, who glanced back at Celegorm.

“Leave him be.” Fëanor whispered, reaching back to pat Celegorm’s half exposed thigh. Celegorm only sighed and adjusted himself a bit more, stealing some of Caranthir’s space while he was at it. Caranthir was already asleep, and didn’t give a shit.

Also still awake was Maglor, holding Amrod and Amras in his arms as best he could without stretching too much. He peered from the corner of his eye at the rest of his family and inquired, “Everything okay?”

“Mhm.” Fëanor didn’t have the energy to smile, and merely blinked at his son before closing his eyes. Their nights were always like this, with closeness beyond anything families these days dared. Nobody was there to judge them, and in privacy they quite enjoyed their little secluded life of secret pilfering and hidden peace.

Fëanor could not work on his personal creations any more, but knowing he had them safe was good enough. Life continued.

 

~

 

Cold and alone was Thranduil when he awoke without Legolas by his side. He’d taken to sleeping on the couch since Legolas couldn’t move anywhere else but this morning, it frightened him to see the living rom empty.

“Legolas? Where are you, love?” His voice quavered with uncertainty, hands reaching to touch the wall for balance. Once he got up, he glanced in the kitchen. Nobody was there.

 _‘This is a dream, right? There’s no way this can be real…’_ Legolas had lived with Thranduil for so long, losing him felt like a father waking to his son having been abducted. That was _exactly_ how Thranduil saw it- Legolas was his own little boy and oh, he _needed_ him. So Thranduil ran as best he could without smacking into his sturdy furniture and called, “Legolas! Legolas will you stop hiding? This isn’t a game!”

A hand pressed down upon his shoulder, hard and unforgiving.

“It is alright, sir. Please calm down.” Tauriel’s head tilted sloooooowly until she was peering into Thranduil’s face from behind him, craning her extendable neck.  
“No, I want my son! What have you done to him?!” Thranduil began to smack at Tauriel in an attempt to get away, needing distance between the suddenly rigid Synth. She wasn’t simulating breaths, and her chest was absolutely still. All she did was smile.

“You don’t have a son.”

“Yes I DO!” Thranduil’s eyebrows nearly jumped off his face and he leapt back just as Tauriel went to grab him. Her confused little grin only frightened him further, along with her deadpan attempts to calm him. He backed up until he felt a door and without thinking, forced it open to slip into the room behind. A room and floor he did not meet – the basement stairs came to greet his stumbling feet and he backpedaled down the stairs until he reached the bottom of his dark, improvised wine cellar. There were things stored in here only Legolas knew about. Thranduil couldn’t remember the last time he’d come here.

‘ _The cord… where is it…?”_ On and on he fumbled, cursing his lack of sight along with the pitch black of his surroundings. He’d shut the door after trying to escape. _Damn it._

Soon enough he managed to smack his hand onto _something_ and discovered an old radio, a truly ancient thing. It made an odd sizzling noise as if about to eat his hand away with corroded battery acid but then it lit up, a single red light signaling power. A gentle, classical hymn began to play so quietly it was at the perfect volume for Thranduil’s sensitive ears. Then, in the glow of the light he saw it. Only an outline, but recognizable nonetheless. There in the center of the room and hanging from the rafters was a corpse, so tall and shapely it could only be one person. Legolas, hung by his neck was still twitching as if he’d just been strung up there to run out of power. Even worse was that he’d been hung by his own charging cord, which remained tightly wrapped above. An unholy scream tore away from his lips like a cyclone of sheer terror, sucking the life from his throat in a single dry blast.

“HYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

It was then that a crack of light appeared, orange-gold and spilling from the door.

“What are you doing in the dark, sir? Bad things might happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .O.


End file.
